


Awakenings III (in which Greg Lestrade and John Watson show Sherlock Holmes what he's been missing out on...)

by sanguisuga



Series: Awakenings [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Affection, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blow Jobs, Childhood Trauma, Comeplay, Comfort Sex, Couch Sex, Dirty Talk, Felching, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Kitchen Sex, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn, Reveal, Rimming, Romance, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, johnlockstrade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 87,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and John have been seeing each other for the past six months. What will Sherlock think of it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As the story progresses in my mind, it's turning into Lestrade's backstory. This is where the story started for me, but in continuing to write I've discovered that there is much more to this tale than I originally thought. This particular chapter doesn't have anything too explicit, but that will certainly be covered in additional chapters.
> 
> Loosely based on the characters portrayed in the BBC version of Sherlock, obviously I don't own any of them, worse luck. Could probably be considered AU, since I'm not using much of the canon. Not entirely sure, as I'm new to all of this! Please post comments, let me know what you think...

John laughed quietly as he headed up the stairs, Greg just behind, his fingers resting lightly on John's waist. At the door to the sitting room, he stopped so abruptly that Greg bumped into him, driving him a step or two into the room. Greg immediately stilled, feeling a sudden tension, and sensing that it was undeniably directed toward him.

Sherlock had been sitting in his customary armchair by the fire, fingers steepled under his nose. Greg was very familiar with this posture, his classic thinking pose. But then those pale quicksilver eyes fastened on to his, and it suddenly seemed that all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"You!" Sherlock stood with a snap, almost like a switchblade unfolding, ready to strike. Two quick strides and he was just there, in front of John, all focus on the man at his back. John quickly put his right hand on Sherlock's chest, applying just a bit of pressure. Greg felt John's left hand at his thigh, pressing back against him. John's message was clear. _'I'll handle this.'_   So he let his hands drop from John's waist, and took a half step back.

Sherlock seemed to shake himself a bit, and then looked down at John's hand. John didn't push, didn't say a word, just looked up at him steadily. He read the tension in the set of John's shoulders, and almost without thinking, backed away.

"This is who you've been seeing all this time?"

"Brilliant deduction, mate."

Greg cleared his throat quietly. "Um, perhaps I should..."

John glanced back at him and shook his head briefly. "No, I'd like you to stay. We're all friends here. Right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock huffed impatiently, but subsided, stalking over to the couch and flouncing down on it, curling himself up and resolutely facing the wall. John sighed.

"Greg, please sit." He indicated his usual chair. "Want something to drink?"

Greg sat and started to shake his head, nervously running his hands down his thighs. Then he noted the look on John's face, and realised that he was attempting to retain some sense of control, of normalcy. "Actually, yeah. Tea would be wonderful."

John nodded and headed into the kitchen, busying himself with the familiar ritual of making tea. His movements were brusque, but controlled. Always so controlled. Sherlock muttered to himself in his self-imposed exile. Greg started as John's hand gently fell on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. John bent down and let his lips rest on the top of Greg's head, breathing in deeply. Greg felt himself relaxing by degrees, just feeling John's warmth at his back. He leaned back briefly, inhaling the scent and the solidity of John. His John. Then he accepted the cup that was being held out to him and settled back.

John put another cup of tea on the coffee table for Sherlock, even knowing that it would probably go cold. He glanced at the empty spot on the sofa. He knew that Sherlock had left it open for him, either subconsciously or as some kind of test. One of Sherlock's infernal experiments. He looked back at Greg, who was just sitting, staring a bit into space, chewing worriedly at his lower lip. Right. Time to lay down some boundaries, then. Stepping in front of Greg, he put a hand to his chin and lifted his face to his. He kissed him gently, tongue probing just a bit at that luscious lip. Then he put his mouth to Greg's ear.

"You'll wear a hole in that lip, sweetheart. And I have plans for it later." Greg blushed furiously and grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, GOD! Can't you take your dreadful mating rituals somewhere else!" Sherlock exploded, finally sitting up and glaring at the both of them. John giggled. He couldn't help it. If anything, that made Sherlock glare even harder.

"Sherlock, you'll give yourself an aneurysm. Calm down." Instead of responding, he simply bounded off the couch and started pacing. Three, four long strides, and then back again. "I really don't know why you're so upset. You knew that I've been seeing someone regularly for the past six months! I even _told_ you who I was with! What, did you think I was using Greg's name as a cover? You're not that dense, mate." Sherlock growled. "I almost thought that you'd be pleased, I don't know why. Always complaining about my girlfriends, insulting them directly to their faces, being horribly rude. At least you know Greg." John looked down at his feet briefly. "At least you trust him."

"Of course I trust him!" Sherlock threw his arms up, fully completing the picture of a madman in full raving mode. "With my life!" He stopped abruptly, turning that unsettling gaze on to John. "But not with you. I can't trust anyone with you. Not even myself."

John shifted uneasily from his perch on the arm of the chair that Greg was occupying. This was new. "Sherlock..." John's voice held a warning.

"No, no! Let me... I just. Well, you've been happy these past few months, and I thought that I could be happy for you, but I'm not. I'm fucking miserable, and I don't even know why! I don't understand...any of this!" He tore at his hair with his long fingers, frustrated beyond words. "I'm...fucking rubbish at this, and I can't STAND that!" More stalking, at an even furious pace than before. "I can't NOT know, I can't NOT understand!" Tears were beginning to form, and John felt something in his chest twinge at the sight.

He looked down at Greg, who was looking a bit lost, a stricken expression on his face. "Greg." John had to run his fingers through his hair to bring his attention back to the present. "Greg. Do you trust me?"

Greg blinked up at John and smiled briefly. "Of course. Always."

"Okay. Sherlock, I think I can help you to understand. But you have to trust me as well." Sherlock didn't pause in his pacing, he just rolled his eyes and flapped his hand in John's direction. He knew that was Sherlockian for _'Of course I trust you, don't be an idiot.'_

John took a deep breath and then neatly intercepted Sherlock's path. He took him firmly by the upper arms and pressed him up against the wall. Ignoring the look of absolute panic on Sherlock's face, he went up on tip-toe and leaned into his body. Once he was sure that Sherlock wouldn't bolt, he put his hands on either side of his face, running his thumbs along those magnificent cheekbones. "Idiot," he breathed against Sherlock's lips before pressing his mouth to Sherlock's.

Those infuriatingly full and lush lips trembled slightly before parting for John's insistent but maddeningly patient pressure. John felt himself smile before dipping his tongue in, just a little. Probing, questing, asking permission without saying a word. Sherlock's mouth opened just a bit more, tongue quivering in confusion. John tickled that tongue with his own, leading it forward, and then boldly sucking it into his own mouth. Sherlock let out a tiny gasp into his mouth, and John swallowed it gratefully. A little more questing, and then he felt Sherlock leaning down into him, so he took the pressure off his toes, regaining his normal height. He let his hands wander into the wealth of black curls, settling his right hand at the nape of Sherlock's neck before running his left hand down Sherlock's arm, finding his hand clenched in a tight fist. John jolted slightly when he realised that Sherlock had no idea what to do with his hands, so he took it in his and led it to the small of his back. Sherlock spasmed, his hand relaxing before drawing John even closer into his body. John began to pull back, bringing the kiss to a slow but definitive end. He leaned his forehead into Sherlock's for a bit, allowing his breathing to come back under control before pulling away.

Sherlock's face was composed, eyes closed, breathing steady. His body was, remarkably, still. John ran his fingers through his hair again, taking in the calm before the storm. "Sherlock?"

He heard Greg crossing the floor before feeling his warmth at his back. Not too close, just enough to lean in and whisper, "I think you may have broken him". John chuckled quietly.

"Sherlock!" His quicksilver eyes suddenly flashed open, fixing on John's face.

_"Oh!"_   Understanding dawned, then confusion again. "Oh." He glared at Greg, standing just a bit too close. "You're still here." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why are you still here?" His arm tightened around John's middle, and John suddenly realised that one hand was still balled into a fist.

"Sherlock, look at me." It took a moment, but he did, eyes suddenly gleaming blue. "Greg isn't going anywhere. I love him."

A quiet gasp from behind him, and John swore internally. Of course he hadn't told Greg that yet, had he? Maybe he'd been living with Sherlock too long. It seemed that a lot was just assumed to be known, rather than having to be told. Not that it always worked that way, obviously. But then, Sherlock hadn't even known this about himself, had he?

"But you...you can't..." Sherlock's eyes flickered, face slowly crashing. "John. Don't leave me." He breathed in deep and whispered miserably. "Please..."

John just smiled. "Oh, you damn fool. Dear, dear idiot." A quick kiss. "I love you too. Always have. And I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon." John sensed it coming, so when Sherlock's knees suddenly gave out, he was there, bracing him against the wall. He stooped quickly and hooked an arm beneath Sherlock's knees and just lifted him, like an overgrown child. He blew out a quick breath. Thank God the sofa was just two steps away. He turned to see Greg staring at him in frank admiration, a slow blush heating his cheeks. John grinned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively before simply sitting down on the sofa, keeping Sherlock tucked up in his lap. Greg grew even redder, if such a thing was possible.

John indicated that he should sit on the opposite end of the sofa with a quick nod of his head. Once Greg was settled, John placed Sherlock's feet across Greg's thighs while he arranged his torso across his own lap. He stroked Sherlock like one might a beloved pet, running his fingers through his hair and behind his ear, down his throat and to his chest before picking his hand up and doing it all again. After a while, Greg realised that Sherlock was humming slightly, almost purring. Eyes closed, body sinking into the cushions like a great black cat, curled up by the fire. He chuckled to himself before becoming aware that he had unconsciously copied John's movements, stroking Sherlock's legs and feet, running his fingers lightly over his instep and ridiculously long toes.

John reached out his free hand and waited for Greg's hand to fold itself into his. He squeezed gently.

"Is this all right?" He looked slightly worried, crinkles around his eyes.

Greg breathed out, studying his features before glancing down at Sherlock, lying prone between them. "Unbelievably so." He smiled at the sudden relief in John's face. Such a lovely, expressive countenance. "What you said earlier... Me too."

John groaned quietly. "Oh God, are you one of those 'ditto' people?"

"What? No. God no. I just... I never know when it's the right time."

"Considering that I made that first leap..."

"Yeah, you did, din't you. Not the way you were hoping to, though." John looked chagrined, and Greg couldn't help but grin widely. "I love you, John Watson. I really, really do. Since the beginning, actually." He looked down at the fingers intertwined with his. "It's just, well, with this great lump of man here... I always knew that I couldn't possibly come first."

"Oh, Greg." John's voice cracked. Greg looked up, startled. The man staring at him now didn't even look like his John. He looked...almost broken. That calm composure had been hit at just the right angle, and now it looked like it might shatter.

"No! Oh, God, John, no... Don't, please." He released his grip on John's hand so he could lift his hand to John's face. John's hand immediately grasped at his shoulder, clenching at the fabric of Greg's shirt as if he feared he would bolt. Greg ran his fingers across John's cheek, feeling the small patch of stubble that he always seemed to miss while shaving and then tweaked his earlobe affectionately. He swallowed, afraid that his own voice would crack. "I've been so, so very happy these past six months. You've helped to heal me, Doctor Watson. I've been more... _me_ than I can ever remember. That should be enough."

John was just shaking his head, over and over. A single tear broke free and started to slide its way down his face before Greg was able to capture it and wipe it away, obliterating all traces. Then there was an elegant pale hand covering his and both men temporarily seemed to forget how to breathe.

"Lestrade." Sherlock's voice was quiet, but there was something simmering underneath that set Greg's heart beating just a touch too fast. Was it fear, or anger? Desire? He looked down at Sherlock's face, his head still pillowed on John's lap. Sherlock blinked up at him lazily before entwining his long fingers in Greg's and bringing both of their hands down to his chest. John suddenly sucked in a trembling breath and Sherlock smirked. " _Greg._ Are you seriously considering walking out on this man?"

Greg shook his head slowly. "I don't want to. God, I don't want that at all." He closed his eyes and took in a shuddering breath. "No. I...damnitall. I... It hurts when I'm not near him."

Sherlock nodded, with a slight frown, as if just noticing something. "Yes. It does, doesn't it?"

"And you. You come first, always have. I can't blame him, look at you, you blinking sod." Sherlock's frown deepened. "You just have no idea, do you? How can someone be so brilliant, and yet such a fucking knob?"

John laughed then, breaking the tension that had built up in the air. Greg saw relief flood Sherlock's face and knew that his own was reflected back at him. But then Sherlock's brows drew together and his fingers tightened on Greg's.

"You will _not_ break his heart. I will not allow it."

Greg swallowed and then forced himself to smile. "And what will happen if I do? Will you throw me out of the window? What was it, three times?"

Sherlock growled. "Four. At least. At the very least."

Greg blinked at him in confusion. "But what about you? I know that this must all be a startling revelation to you and all, but he loves you. And you clearly love him."

A sigh, and a quick roll of the eyes. "Obvious."

"Which is why you won't let him get hurt."

Another roll of the eyes. "Also obvious."

"So what do you propose we do? If you'll pardon me saying so, you're not the sort to forgive intruders into what you may determine as your territory. No other boys allowed in your sandbox, eh?"

No eye roll, this time, just the frown. "I...don't know. This is all rather new to me."

John cleared his throat. "I don't suppose I get a say, do I?" His breath caught at the looks that were thrown in his direction and his mouth snapped shut. "Right."

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his nose, doing his best to ignore John's fingers in his hair and Greg's hand on his chest, rubbing absently. A broad swipe tickled at the edge of one of his nipples under his taut shirt. An involuntary spasm made his toes curl, and he stared up at Greg, startled. Greg grinned, teeth impossibly white in the dim light. Sherlock felt John shift uncomfortably under his head and shot a glance up at him. He was staring at Greg's hand, moving in slow circles against Sherlock's chest, pupils dilated and heartbeat increasing.

"Oh for God's sake John! Control yourself."

John grinned brightly. "Make me."

"We're only trying to decide on your future here, you know. And any distractions will not...um, distract me from that purpose. Um. Righttt..." Sherlock's eyes crossed briefly as John's hand joined in the fun, teasing the buttons on his shirt open one by one before he could slip a hand in and tweak the nipples that had visibly hardened against the fabric. _"Oh."_   Sherlock tried to swat John's hand away, and failed utterly. "Stop that. You're making my brain short out."

Greg chuckled low in his throat. "I rather think that's the idea, mate."

Sherlock attempted his best haughty stare, but it dissolved when Greg's hand started moving down, circling a bony hip and trailing down a long expanse of well-trousered thigh. He huffed instead. "And why are you even touching me? Shouldn't this, whatever this is, shouldn't it be for John?"

Greg grinned. "I can't help it. You haven't let me touch you in a very long time, Sherlock. And one thing about our dear Doctor Watson that you haven't been able to deduce - he likes to share. And to watch." With this he wound both hands into Sherlock's shirt, now wide open, lifted him bodily off of John's lap and pressed his mouth to his lips hungrily. Sherlock tensed for about a half second before simply melting into Greg and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

"Oh God, yes. _Yes_."

Both Greg and Sherlock had to pull back and giggle at John's quiet exclamation. Greg started to lean back into Sherlock but abruptly became aware of the confusion on his face and the uncomfortable tension in his body.

"Right. Before anything else happens, let's get you sorted." Sherlock nodded gratefully and pulled himself into a sitting position between the two men. Greg's police training suddenly kicked in as he studied Sherlock's body language. "Would you feel better if we weren't penning you in?" Sherlock flashed an annoyed look and deliberately grasped both men's hands in his. "All right, then." Greg couldn't keep the smile off his face, or from his voice.

John circled his thumb on Sherlock's hand, almost absently. "Love, if you have questions, go on and ask."

A pleasant shudder ran through his body at the sound of the endearment, but then Sherlock huffed impatiently. "Brain still not working properly, dammit." A deep breath. "Relationships. Popular opinion seems to be that one person is meant to be with one other. But with what Greg is suggesting, it doesn't seem to work that way with you. Explain." Sherlock could practically feel John's eyebrow raising. "Please."

"It isn't a one size fits all world, Sherlock. Greg and I enjoy each other very much. Sometimes, when the mood strikes, we also enjoy others. But always together."

"But you don't love these others?"

"Love isn't always a factor, Sherlock. Sometimes, sex is just sex."

"Really _hot_ , mind-blowing sex."

"Greg, hush." John stifled his giggle, noticing that Sherlock's brain seemed to have gone on standby again. "Dear Lord, I think you've broken him this time." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Sherlock?"

A quick intake of breath. He turned to John. "So. You love me and you'd like to 'enjoy' me?"

"Oh, you'd enjoy it too, believe me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's self-satisfied tone before turning to Greg. "And you would want, what? To enjoy John without me?"

"Oh, no. I'll have you both. If you'll have me, of course."

Sherlock's eyes slipped out of focus again, and a tiny smile quirked at one corner of his mouth. Both John and Greg looked at it, licking their lips in anticipation. Then each caught the other's gaze and they grinned at each other like fools. Sherlock sighed and seemed to come back into himself. He looked at Greg, blue eyes piercing.

"And if I agree to this, would it be purely physical for you?"

"Good God, no. I love you too, you insufferable git."

Sherlock's head rocked back slightly, almost as if he'd been slapped. "You _what?_ "

"I love you." Greg sighed. "Look, I know you don't like to think of the bad days, but really. Why do you think I always came to look for you, pull you out of whatever hellhole you had fallen into?"

Sherlock just looked confused. "Mycroft..."

"No." Greg's voice brooked no argument. "Your bloody brother doesn't frighten me, Sherlock. He would sometimes make it easier for me to find you, but I went because I wanted to. And I brought you home because I wanted to, and I took care of you. Because I wanted to."

Sherlock just looked more confused than before. Greg could see that he was fighting for control, and beginning to slip. "Why? Why did you do all that for some stupid junkie kid? I never understood."

Greg put his free hand to Sherlock's cheek, ran his fingers along the brow ridge, the prominent cheekbones, down the slope of his nose before pinching his chin in thumb and forefinger. "Because you were, and are, the most extraordinary human being I know. And because you needed someone to take care of you. I was happy to have that privilege." He gently wiped away the tears that were falling down Sherlock's cheeks. "John Watson may be your final puzzle piece, my dear madman, but I was the one who filled in your edges."

Sherlock broke. "Oh, Greg!" He buried his face in Greg's chest and sobbed openly. His body was twisted awkwardly, since he seemed incapable of letting go of John's hand. John quickly slipped off the sofa and kneeled between the two men, embracing them both and lavishing little kisses on any area he could reach. After long moments, John's gentle ministrations seemed to bring Sherlock back to himself. "How could I not see, how could I not know?"

"Oh, you knew. You always do, being Sherlock bleeding Holmes. You were just afraid. The night we first met, I rejected you. For the right reasons, of course, but it hurt you badly, and you couldn't risk it happening again. So you shut that part of yourself down, and ignored your feelings. I understand completely."

"Because you're a fucking _saint!,_ " Sherlock wailed. Greg and John exchanged startled glances. "And I'm just an awful, selfish bastard." His fingers flew to Greg's shirt, fumbling to get the buttons all undone. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

His hands were shaking so violently that he almost tore the fabric. Greg gently clasped Sherlock's face and noted the fresh sheen of sweat on his brow and an increasing shortening of breath, again with a trained eye. "John."

John nodded and breathed in deeply before taking both of Sherlock's hands in his own, stilling the trembling fingers. "I'm sure you will, love. And I'm equally as sure that Greg will be eternally grateful. But I think that what's required right now is bed. As in sleep. There have been quite a few emotional breakthroughs today, and I think it's become a bit much for you." Greg suddenly yawned hugely. John grinned, thankful for the unintended support. "None of us is as young as we used to be." He glanced at his watch. "Christ, it's half-past two."

Sherlock sniffled. "And later?"

John smiled indulgently at Greg's wicked grin. "Perhaps. C'mon, up you get." He stood and helped Sherlock to his feet and then steered him down the hall. Greg followed, just a step behind. Once in Sherlock's room, John assisted him in getting undressed, with the quick and mechanical motions of a trained medical professional. Greg watched from the doorway, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. John shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes. Once again, the message was clear. _'Naughty boy. You'll get yours, just you wait.'_

Greg's answering grin was just as clear. _'Bring it on, baby.'_

Sherlock had been stripped down to his black silk boxers, and now John was urging him toward the bed. He flopped down gracelessly, nearly taking John with him. He struggled briefly to keep himself upright, and quickly realising that it was a losing battle, seeing as how Sherlock had both hands fisted tightly into his jumper.

"Would you like me to stay, Sherlock?" A muffled assertion and a quick nod.

"Oh, right." Greg started to turn away. "I'll just, um..."

"No." Sherlock's voice was quiet, but clear. "Both of you. I'd like you both to stay. Please?"

Greg had already stripped halfway down before the _'Please'_  was even out of Sherlock's mouth. John chuckled and then tried to twist free of Sherlock's grip. "Sweeting, I'm not going to be very comfortable in a jumper and jeans. You have to let go. Just for a moment, okay?"

A mumbled assent, and then a reluctant release. Greg assisted with John's jumper and shirt as John unbuckled, unzipped and slipped his jeans off. Then they were both left standing in their pants and vests.

" _Mm_." Greg had very little use for conversation, sometimes. It's one of the things that John loves him for. He allowed himself to be pulled into Greg's embrace, looking up into the taller man's face expectantly. But then, Greg doesn't always do what's expected. He brushed his lips across John's temple, and then followed his hairline down to his perfect ear, running his nose along the outer curve and huffing a quiet breath inside. John jumped slightly, but held as still as he could. This had become somewhat of a bedtime ritual for them. Greg would choose just a bit of John, and then worship it, spending a good ten minutes at least in which he would systematically send John into a frenzy. But not tonight. Tonight was about Sherlock, and Greg knew it. So instead of employing fingers and breath and tongue and sweet foul words to drive John to the brink and back again, he simply brushed his lips along his jawline and then took his mouth in a sweet, fierce kiss.

They pulled away from each other, noticing for the first time that Sherlock was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, just staring at them, utterly and completely transfixed. He shook his head and smiled very slowly. He held out his arms, for all the world like a child wanting to be picked up and held.

Greg and John reached out their hands then, and allowed themselves to be pulled into Sherlock's bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and John put on a little show for Sherlock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely a WIP, and would love some feedback. Here is where the Explicit tag comes into play...

It was clear to both men that Sherlock knew exactly how he wanted them to be arranged, as he pulled John across his front and Greg along his back.

They were all lying on their left sides, one compact spoon nestled into two. Greg couldn't resist placing his lips against the back of Sherlock's neck, trailing his fingers down the outline of his ribs, finally coming to rest on a bony hip. After a moment, Sherlock's fingers twined with his and then he brought their joined hands up to his chest, wedging them between his sternum and John's back. He exhaled, and Greg could feel the rumbling sigh between his chest and fingers, and wondered if he had ever heard anything as beautiful and satisfied before.

There was a slight motion as John turned his head. "Sleep, boys."

"Yes, Papa." Sherlock's voice was high-pitched and slightly mocking. Greg snorted and he could practically hear the smile on Sherlock's face. John's only response was a heartfelt and long-suffering sigh.

Before long, Greg could feel as Sherlock's arm over his grew heavier, and he allowed himself to drift. He breathed in the scent of this impossible man, citrus and cinnamon and something indefinable; woodsy, perhaps. His final thought before darkness took him was, _'Bloody hell, he smells like Christmas morning'_.

When he was awakened what seemed like moments later, Sherlock was attempting to gently extricate himself from the two men, and failing miserably. The early morning light was pushing its way through the curtains. Greg figured it was about six-thirty, maybe seven. Whatever time it was, it was clearly far too early after a long and trying night.

"Wassamatter? Too much?"

"Don't be daft. I have to use the loo."

"Ah." Greg released his hold and then turned over on his back, allowing Sherlock to clamber over him gracelessly. "Christ, you're all knobbly knees and elbows." Sherlock paused mid-clamber, looming menacingly, eyes dark and unreadable in the early morning gloom. "And I love every poky, bony inch."

Sherlock bit his lower lip, and Greg felt the body atop his soften a tiny bit. "Greg, I -".

"Sherlock..."

"No. I've been a fool. A stupid, blind fool."

"A fool, maybe, I'll grant you that, but stupid? Never stupid."

"Such faith. In such a fool..."

Greg took Sherlock's face in his hands tenderly. "Caring for people, loving them - it can _hurt_ , Sherlock. You learned that at a very young age when your father took his life. Being the clever lad that you were, you thought that if you just never loved, then you would never hurt again. Obviously, it doesn't work that way." Greg felt Sherlock's body trembling, feeling the tears were soaking into his vest, but not caring one whit. "And I, Sherlock Holmes, have seen you at your worst, at your most vulnerable. I could hurt you very badly. It's up to you to trust that I won't." He hesitated, licking his lips apprehensively. Sherlock had become very quiet and still above him, but he wasn't pulling away. "You said earlier that you trust me with your life. Can you trust me with your heart?"

There was no hesitation as Sherlock lowered his face to Greg's, running the tip of his nose along Greg's jaw to his ear. "I trust you, Gregory Lestrade." A warm breath, a wicked little nibble at his earlobe. " _Implicitly_." His mouth continued its exploration, slowly, uncertainly.

Greg groaned quietly as his body arched involuntarily. His hands found Sherlock's waist, and just pulled him down, down, until their bodies were pressed together completely. Sherlock stretched against him languidly, hissing in a shallow breath, but not moving his lips any quicker. His ear, his temple, along the ridges of his brows. Sherlock seemed to like the feel of that skin against his teeth, as he nibbled and nipped along both eyebrows before gently kissing closed eyelids and then running his tongue down Greg's nose. Another bite right at the tip, perhaps a bit too strong this time, as Greg jumped slightly and muttered a curse.

"You prat, you're gonna bloody well _kill_ me." Somewhere within Lestrade, he knew that if Sherlock was going to be okay with - all of this - he had to be able to come into it on his own time, set the pace for himself. But as Sherlock's mouth hovered over his own, a knowing smirk curving those delicious lips, he just couldn't stand it anymore. Fisting both hands into dark curls, he leapt those last few centimetres, bringing his mouth to Sherlock's with nearly bruising force. Sherlock melted instantly, opening his mouth for Greg to explore hungrily.

" _Mm_."

"Mm- _hmm_." Greg could only agree. Finally releasing that hot mouth, he trailed wetness down the long expanse of white throat, licking and sucking. A swift fierce bite at the curve of neck and shoulder was rewarded with a quiet moan and a sudden awareness of a very hard cock pressing up against his. They were both panting now, and Greg wanted nothing more than to flip Sherlock over and just devour him. But then there was a long white hand on his chest, pushing back gently.

"Greg, I -"

"Too much?" Sherlock shook his head. "Too soon?"

"No, no. I just -"

"What is it, baby?"

Sherlock shuddered against him pleasantly and whispered in his ear. "I really do need to pee."

Greg fell back against the pillow, shaking with silent mirth. He smacked the luscious bum under his hand lightly. "Away with you, then." Sherlock was gone in a flash, Greg felt motion in the bed next to him as he heard the bathroom door close with a tiny click. He turned into John, hands already questing for the magic spots, the ones that Greg knew would turn his doctor into a quivering mass under his hands.

John was mumbling, words tumbling over each other in an effort to escape as quickly as possible. "Good _Christ_ , I thought I was going to _explode_ , damn Greg you're so caring and _hot_  and I had no idea about his dad and of course he trusts you idiot _Jesus_ you're too good and _God_ but I want you so bad."

Greg smiled in the dim light before working both of their vests up and off. He closed his mouth over John's, cutting off the litany of desire. He cupped his right hand on the nape of John's neck, holding him with a firm pressure, not hard or rough. Just enough for John to know that Greg had him, that he was right where he belonged. John's body quivered, anticipating. Greg's hand released, trailing gently down his spine. A hint of nails scraping flesh, a quiet moan from his love. Palm pressed flat against tailbone, a light flutter of fingertips tracing the cleft of his arse over his pants. A shuddering breath.

"John, you really have the most magnificent arse. Have I ever told you that?"

"Nearly every day." John's voice was breathy. "Never stop."

Greg chuckled. "It's the loveliest arse I've ever seen. So firm under my hand, but with just the right amount of bounce to it. I was so pleased the first time I got you out of your pants. Under those loose jeans and silly jumpers, it's impossible to tell how fit you really are. You look like a cuddly bunny, fer chrissakes. Underneath, though, you're all steel and heat. How the hell did I get so lucky?"

John stared at him, eyes huge and dark. "Hm. I'd say I was the lucky one. Maybe it was Fate?"

"No such thing." Sherlock's voice cut neatly into their little bubble. He positioned himself cross-legged at the foot of the bed, eyes focused on them intently. "Besides, I'm obviously the luckiest man in this room."

"Obviously," Greg and John whispered in unison. And then they dissolved into gasping little giggles at the satisfied look on Sherlock's face. He reached out a hand to each of them, running his fingers along their entangled legs. He murmured quietly, almost inaudibly.

John raised himself up on an elbow. "What is it, Sherlock? Tell us what you want."

"I want -" Eyes downcast, a slight clearing of his throat. "Can I watch?"

The men glanced at each other and then Greg simply flipped John onto his back and straddled him, lavishing his neck and chest with messy kisses. He felt John's hands roaming his body, fingertips light against his sides and then scraping nails down his back. Thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers, wiggling them down and over his arse. A slight gasp and moan from the bottom of the bed, and then additional hands were suddenly there to help remove the offending garment.

Greg felt John's hips lift a bit under him as Sherlock interceded again, stripping him just as naked as Greg. He took a moment, as he always did, to kneel back and simply look at his lover, lying naked and vulnerable. All compact muscle and battle-hardened skin, yet so soft and pliant under Greg's gaze. And, as always, John stretched and luxuriated in that gaze, feeling safe and wanted and completely taken. Then he reached out a hand, and pulled Greg back down into his embrace.

The two men moved against each other slowly, almost lazily. Breath catching in throats as skin caressed skin, heat blooming in their bellies. Both were only dimly aware of Sherlock's intense scrutiny, aside from the occasional quiet exclamation from the foot of the bed. Greg trailed a finger down John's belly, then reached down to cup his bollocks. He squeezed lightly, middle finger pressing down firmly on his perineum. John arched and moaned deliciously.

"Greg, I -"

"Oh, I know. Me snogging Sherlock earlier, it got you all worked up, didn't it?" John nodded helplessly, biting at his lower lip. Greg's breath caught at the sight. " _God_ , I love seeing you like this. We'll keep this simple then. On your knees, facing me. We'll just wank each other, all right?"

John smiled crookedly and moved to comply. "Should make for a nice introduction." Then his hand wrapped around Greg's cock and all thought ceased, for just a moment. A light tug and a twist.

" _Ngh_." John chuckled throatily, then groaned as Greg returned the favor.

"Damn. Would be nice if we had some -"

"Lube?"

The men's hands stilled, and they turned to the foot of the bed, where Sherlock was holding out a small tube. His face was a study in innocence, but his pupils were hugely dilated, making his eyes seem dark and alien. His tongue darted out and licked at his bottom lip, almost unconsciously.

"Um, yeah." Greg reached out his hand, but instead of Sherlock handing it over as he expected, he popped the cap and squeezed a bit out. "Thanks, Sherlock." He nodded brusquely, eyes darting between the two men as if urging them to _just get on with it already_. John ran his hand over Greg's, spreading the lube liberally. Then he took hold again, and Greg could tell by the pressure that he was employing that he was nearly desperate.

"Slow down, love. Mm, it's okay, we've got time."

"Oh, but I want - I need..."

"I know exactly what you need." Greg's hand was sure, slow. He put his mouth to John's ear. "His mouth. Look at Sherlock's mouth. Clever, beautiful, lips so full and lush. Pink. You want to see that mouth on me, don't you? See how clever it can really be when he's sucking me off, right?" John's only response was a breathless moan, but the tempo of his hand on Greg had slowed to a delicious pace. " _God_ , John, right there, that's gorgeous. _Jesus_. Yes, I know you. I know what you need. You need to see my cock in his mouth, Sherlock's brilliant mouth and hands all over me, that's what you need." Greg pulled back just a bit, taking in the look of utter abandonment on John's face. Cheeks flushed, lips bite-swollen, breath starting to come in hitching gasps. Greg loved him like this, all self-control gone, utterly needy under his hands. He leant into him again. "But he's not going to suck me off, no. Because I'll tell him when to stop, and then I'll get him on his hands and knees and then I'm going to fuck him good and proper."

"Oh, Greg, oh, _Jesus_ -" Chest heaving, John's fingers slowing and grasping at Greg's cock erratically.

"And you'll get to see both of our faces when we come, because we'll be doing it for you. _All for you_."

"Oh, _Christ_!" Warmth spurted over Greg's hand as John came explosively, his body trembling violently. Greg ran his hand over the head of John's cock, fingers spreading his come and delighting in his tiny aftershocks. He pulled John's head into his shoulder and kissed the top of his head before taking himself in hand.

"John. John, my love." John's come had made his hand super-slick, and of course he knew just the right pressure and speed. John's hand joined his, cupping and fondling his bollocks, deftly fingering at his perineum. He tucked his forehead into Greg's neck, smiling as his lover's breath ghosted over his cheek.

"Greg, I love you, I love you so much, I can't believe I hadn't told you before last night, God, I'm an idiot. I want to see you come for me, look at me love, let me _see_ you."

Greg moaned and leant back a little, eyes roving from John's semen-slicked belly, tense with muscle, to his well-defined chest and lovely rounded shoulders, skimming over the starburst-shaped knot of scar tissue on the left side. Finally he met his stormy blue-grey eyes and his breath stuttered in his chest, warmth exploding from his centre. Greg spilled over, completely wracked with tremors as he added to the splatters on John's belly. John laughed, delighted, before clasping Greg closer into his body, smearing their mutual mess together. They collapsed onto their sides on the bed.

"Ick."

John just laughed breathlessly. "Oh, you love it. Visual proof of what you do to me. Evidence. Right, Sherlock?" He lifted his head, but Sherlock wasn't there.

Greg shook his head. "Now where did he biff off to?"

"I didn't even see him go. I was a little, uh, distracted." They giggled helplessly, a little high and a lot tired. Their eyes started to slip closed, their breathing began to even out.

"Here. I brought flannels." The two men just stared up at Sherlock in bewilderment. Finally, he sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "John, lie back." John did so, eyes fixed on Sherlock's face. He wiped John down studiously and then turned to Greg to do the same.

Greg couldn't help but grin. "First you help strip us, then you produce lube from God knows where, and now you're wiping us down. It's lovely, but you do know we don't want you to just be some kind of sex attendant, right?"

"Please." A huffed breath and barely contained eye roll. "I just wanted to ensure that things went - smoothly."

John rolled into Greg's side, tucking his head into his shoulder. "Did you enjoy it, Sherlock?"

"Really, John. Once again, you see, but you fail to -"

"Oh, I'm observing plenty, smartarse." He nodded at Sherlock's very prominent erection, barely being contained by his black silk boxers. Greg was staring unabashedly, almost cross-eyed. He reached out a hand, but Sherlock side-stepped it nimbly, like a colt shying away. John smacked Greg's chest. "Greg, no." He brought his attention back to Sherlock. "Your physical reaction is noted. But that doesn't necessarily coincide with your mental or emotional state. If this is an entirely new sensation for you, there may be some wires getting crossed at first."

"I have gone through puberty, John. I'm not a _child_. I am very aware of the hormonal impact on my brain and body. It's just been a long time since it's reacted this - strongly."  
   
"How long, exactly?"  
   
"Oh, about eight years. Give or take." His glance slid over Greg's face and chest.

John felt Greg squirm uneasily at his side. "So you did enjoy it."

"I'm not sure that 'enjoy' is remotely adequate. The experience was certainly enlightening. Especially Greg's little narration near the end." His eyes locked onto Greg's. "I've never seen him like that before. You had him completely undone."

Greg smirked. "He's lovely when he's like that, isn't he? I know what he likes."

"Still, it was masterfully done." Greg and John traded startled glances.

"Was that a compliment, Sherlock?" John's voice was thick, as if holding back laughter. "Good lord, is the world ending?"

He sniffed. "I was merely congratulating the man on his skills."  
   
Greg swallowed. "I'd be happy to practice those skills on you..." Sherlock looked down at him, brows raised. "I mean, come on - that must be terribly distracting."  
   
"It will subside." He grinned suddenly. "Besides, you're both clearly too tired, and I'd want you at your best, wouldn't I?"  
   
"Mm." John's voice was a mere murmur against Greg's chest.   
   
Greg looked up at him, eyes growing heavy. "Come on, then. Get back in bed." After a moment, Sherlock slipped back into the bed at John's back, pulling the duvet up over their entwined bodies. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking at Greg over John's tousled blond-brown hair. Then he lowered his nose to John's neck, inhaling his scent and warmth. John wriggled.  
   
" _Sss_." Sherlock's hiss of surprise quickly turned into a moan as he tried to angle his body away from John's. Greg breathed out a silent laugh, feeling John's lips curve into a smirk against his flesh. He continued to move languidly. " _John_." Sherlock's voice is strained. "John, stop. _Please_." John immediately stilled, huddling closer to Greg.  
   
"Sorry, S'lock." John's voice was muffled, already half-asleep. "But you feel so...good. 'N you smell good, and your voice, mm s'good. S'all so good."  
   
Sherlock groaned and flopped over on his back. " _God_ , stop talking. Just. Stop."  
   
"M'kay." Silence, and then a small snore. Greg smiled, and then reached over John to clasp Sherlock's hand. His fingers closed over Greg's easily, but his gaze was fixed on the ceiling. Greg tugged lightly, and Sherlock looked at him, confusion clouding his face. Greg tugged again, and Sherlock turned into John's back once more, crowding in as close as possible. Once Greg was sure that Sherlock was somewhat settled, he allowed his head to fall back on the pillow and his eyes to close.  
   
He felt fingertips lightly tracing his chest, down his belly. Sherlock's hand settled on the hollow of his hip, and Greg placed his hand over Sherlock's before slipping into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit serious. But in a good way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a "romance" tag, because my boys are surprisingly sappy... And this one is perhaps a bit short, but I think I'll make up for that on the next one.

Gregory Lestrade was dreaming of falling. Not like a plunge from a fifteen-story building, where your heart leaps into your throat and you're choking on it. No, more like that odd sensation when you step off a kerb and the street is further away than you thought. A slight swoop in the pit of his stomach, the jarring motion of feet hitting concrete too suddenly.  
   
" _Christ!_ " He jolted awake as his bare arse hit the hardwood floor next to Sherlock's bed. Thankfully, he was able to prevent his head from following suit. Greg simply sat there for a moment, trying to remember where and who he even was. He had always hated being pulled out of sleep by a bad dream, and to find that there was a basis in truth to it, however small, had shaken him up a bit.  
   
Then there was a small but strong hand on his cheek, turning his face toward the bed. "All right, love?" John was lying on his stomach, left hand reaching out for Greg. He eyed him with concern, but Greg couldn't help but notice the slight smirk that he was attempting to conceal. Greg blinked at John and took a moment to relish his lover's simple touch, gazing into those lovely blue-grey eyes before nodding.  
   
"I think so. What the hell happened?"  
   
John jerked his head slightly toward his right, and Greg raised himself up on his knees to get a better view. Sherlock was flat on his back, gangly limbs flung every which way, snoring gently. Apparently, when he slept, he slept _hard_ , and he obviously wasn't used to sharing his bed space. His right leg was cocked at an angle, and thrown over John's naked backside, effectively pinning him in place.  
   
Greg giggled. "You bloody wankers just pushed me out of bed!"  
   
John shrugged as much as possible. "Sorry?" Then there was a shifting in the bed, and Sherlock moaned a little as he turned toward John and just steamrollered right over him. " _Mmph_!" Greg sat back on his heels, eyes wide at the sight of his compact doctor being completely engulfed by seemingly acres of consulting detective.  
   
"Greg!" John's whisper was frantic, almost desperate. "Get me the hell out of here! He feels like he weighs 30 bloody stone!"  
   
Greg could only clasp both hands to his mouth, attempting to hold back his laughter. He got it under control as much as possible and then whispered back. "Oh my God, you two are precious. I need to remember this."  
   
"Well, why don't you just take a photo then? Get me _out_ , dammit!"  
   
John frowned impressively as Greg suddenly sat up straight and started looking around himself desperately. Jeans, yes - there in the corner. He shuffled over and started rooting around in the pockets before triumphantly producing his phone.  
   
"John, my darling, you are brilliant."  
   
"No! I didn't mean it _literally_ , you git!" But there was a soft click and flash anyway. John closed his eyes and attempted to breathe evenly through his nose. "Gregory Lestrade, if you do not help me get out from under this _beast_ of a man and out of this bed right this very instant I will never snog you silly ever _ever_ again." John was speaking in the clipped tones of a ranked official now. Greg grinned lopsidedly, head cocked to the side. God, he loved that voice. "I am serious. Get. Me. Out. _Now_!"  
   
"Oh, all right. Calm down, Captain Watson." John just glared ineffectually. At first, Greg tried to simply push Sherlock's torso back and away from John, but he wasn't budging. "Damn, you're right. How could he possibly weigh so much?" John sighed exasperatedly. He watched as Greg took a step back, attempting to work out a strategy.  
   
"Hm. I wonder..." Greg crossed to the other side of the bed, and reaching out, trailed his hand along Sherlock's spine. Greg smiled as he arched into his touch. He then worked his hand down Sherlock's leg and pulled away slightly, leaving a bare few centimetres between their flesh. Sherlock started to turn, body unconsciously following the warmth coming off of Greg's skin. "That's it, baby. Come to me." Using only his body heat, he coaxed Sherlock away from John's prone form and back onto the empty expanse of his bed.   
   
Finally, John slipped off the bed and onto the floor with a slight thump. Greg snagged John's pillow and placed it next to Sherlock's chest before coaxing his arm around it, thinking that the familiar scent should help to comfort and keep Sherlock asleep a bit longer. Greg pulled up the duvet, made sure that it was securely tucked up around Sherlock before kissing his dark curls lightly. He turned to see John standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark and stormy. The effect that he was going for was mitigated slightly by the fact that he was completely starkers, and clearly half-hard.   
   
"All right, love?" Greg's tone was feigned innocence. John simply lifted a hand and then pointed to the floor in front of him.  
   
"Gregory. Come here. _Now_." Greg moved to comply instantly, unable to refuse that voice.  
   
"Yes, Captain Watson."  
   
John studied him, face and eyes serious. Greg was always astonished at how effectively John could stare him down, even being a good four inches shorter. "Insubordination, Gregory?"  
   
"Sorry, sir. I had my reasons, sir."  
   
"Reasons? Irrelevant. You ignored a direct order. I should have you on your knees for that."  
   
A lazy finger of desire curled around the base of Greg's spine and he felt his cock twitch in appreciation. He saw John's eyes flick down briefly and then toward the motionless lump in the middle of the bed.  
   
" _However_. Sherlock did say that he wanted us at our best. And if I shag the stuffing out of you now, not only will we wake him up, but we will have let him down." His eyes focused on Greg again, steely grey. "And we will not allow that to happen, Gregory. _Will we?"_  
   
"No, sir. Never."  
   
John relaxed slightly, did his best to ignore both of their burgeoning erections. "Fine. Find our bloody pants and then let's see if we can find something to eat in that pit of a kitchen. I'm ravenous."  
   
"Sir, yes sir." John grinned and stepped forward. He took Greg's face in his hands and kissed him deeply.  
   
"I love having you under me, Gregory. Insubordination and all." Greg shuddered pleasantly and slipped out of 'Private' mode.  
   
"None of that talk now, John. Or there's no way in heaven or on earth that we'll be able to wait for Sherlock." He paused, considering. "Well, there's no way _I_  could." John grinned again as he stepped back, leaving Greg to scan the room for their underwear.

 

                   **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********    

     
A few moments later, they were both clad in their pants and vests once again, clustered around the kitchen table. John left Greg to start the kettle and search out tea while he perused the meagre offerings in the fridge.

"Hm. Well, there is bread and butter. Jam. We could just make do with toast. At least until Sherlock wakes up." John set to work, seemingly intent on toasting an entire loaf of bread.

Greg set two steaming mugs on the table and then reached around John for the pot of blackcurrant jam. His finger kinda-sorta-almost-but-not-really-accidentally slipped inside the pot. "Oops."

John chortled. "You know, the first two times you did that, I honestly believed that you were just a clumsy oaf. Now, I know better." He took Greg's hand and lifted his fingers to his mouth. John opened his mouth, running the tip of his tongue from the base of Greg's index finger to the tip and then closed his mouth over it, sucking deeply. He closed his eyes languorously and hummed low in his throat when Greg deftly slipped his middle finger into the mix. When everything had been licked and sucked clean, John opened his eyes to find Greg staring at him, rapt. He opened his mouth and let Greg's fingers slip out. "You could never be that clumsy, sweetheart."

Greg wrapped his arms around John's waist. "Damn. You've seen right through my ruse, you clever little thing."

"Oi! Watch it. Or I will have you on your knees after all, you cheeky git."

"Promises, promises..." Greg kissed the tip of John's nose before releasing him. "Think you've made enough toast, love?"

John jammed a slice into Greg's mouth. "Did you not hear me say 'ravenous' just a few minutes ago?" He devoured a slice of his own in three huge bites before grabbing another and then heading down the stairs with the intention of fetching the paper. He came back and sat down next to Greg at the kitchen table. They settled into a comfortable silence, touching shoulders and knees while munching toast, sipping tea and reading the paper.

Greg smiled to himself. It was the weekend, and they had absolutely nothing on. It was brilliant. These moments of peace had been fairly rare to come by, and he certainly had never expected to have one while at 221B. For all the excitement that his job brought to his everyday life, at heart Greg was a domestic creature. These quiet moments, as precious and rare as they were, these were what he lived for.

"So, what d'ya reckon?" John's voice neatly cut into his musings.

"Hm? What did I miss?"

John chuckled. "Nothing, really. Just thinking out loud." He nodded his head in the direction of Sherlock's room. "Do you think we could make a go of it?"

"What, all three of us? In one flat? Umm..."

"I've been thinking about it. Mrs. Hudson's never been able to rent out 221C. I'm sure she'd give us a deal. We could move all of Sherlock's experiments and other insanity down there!"

Greg chortled. "Our own personal madman, equipped with a basement laboratory? As if he needs any additional reason to flap around like a hero in some Victorian gothic novel..." He turned and squinted at John seriously. "How much of this thinking revolves around moving me in, and how much is just keeping body parts out of the fridge?"

John blinked innocently. "I'm only thinking of you, love. I know how much you hate that dingy flat." John glanced down, suddenly bashful. "I know how much you want an actual home to come to at the end of the day. You love me, and Sherlock. This is our home, and we would be more than happy for you to make Baker Street your home as well."

Greg choked down the lump in his throat. "Bloody hell. You really have been thinking about it, haven't you? Are you sure about Sherlock, though?"

"Hm. Perhaps we should ask."

"Oh, no. That's all on you, love." John crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look stern. "Nope. Not this time, Captain, my Captain."

The look dissolved as Greg took John's face in his hands and kissed him deeply, fervently. "I would very much like to share a home with you, John Watson. This home." They wrapped their arms around each other and rested their foreheads together, just feeling the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a taste... :-p

"We'll need a bigger bed." Sherlock's baritone drawl made them jump, and they bumped their heads together solidly.

" _Ouch_. Jesus, Sherlock." John turned to him, rubbing his forehead. "Stop skulking about."

Sherlock propped himself up against the fridge, his blue dressing gown wrapped firmly around him. "I do not _skulk_ , John. I made my customary amount of noise." He quirked an eyebrow at Greg, who was beckoning him forward.

"Have some toast, Sherlock. We'll make you some tea."

Sherlock sniffed. "I'm not hungry." John shook his head and stood, stalking over to him. Taking his arms, he manhandled him onto the stool that he had just vacated. Sherlock promptly opened his mouth to object, and Greg took the opportunity to shove a slice of toast into his mouth. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but took a bite and started to chew as John flipped the kettle back on.  
   
John leaned back on the counter and eyed Sherlock. "How much did you hear?"  
   
"Enough." He turned in his chair and looked Greg up and down, continuing to chew thoughtfully. "I'm amenable."   
   
Greg scoffed lightly. "Well, that's a ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one..."   
   
Sherlock devoured the remaining bit of toast and placed his hand on Greg's knee, squeezing lightly. He held his other hand out to John, who leant across the table to take it. "When I woke up a few minutes ago, it was to an empty bed. It was - disconcerting, to say the least." John and Greg exchanged glances before turning their attentions back to Sherlock, who was clearly struggling to express his feelings. "I - expected... No. I _knew_  that you would both be there, and when you weren't... There may have been a touch of panic. Then I heard you talking, and everything was just...right again." He looked at them both in turn. "I want this to be the place we can all come back to. I - I need to know that you're safe. _Both_ of you."  
   
Greg stood and crowded into Sherlock as John came around the table to his other side. Sherlock wrapped an arm around each of their waists and they all just held each other for a long moment. John stepped away, turning back to the kettle, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. Greg swallowed the lump in his throat and sat back down.  
   
"I'll start packing, then."  
   
Sherlock smiled broadly and reached out for the last slice of toast. John's eyebrows rose, watching with surprise as it disappeared rather rapidly. He placed a steaming mug in front of Sherlock, and refilled Greg's mug as well.   
   
"And I'll talk to Mrs. Hudson about 221C." Sherlock's eyes lit up, no doubt cataloguing the myriad experiments that John had steadfastly refused to allow in 221B. John's brow furrowed intensely and he lifted a finger in warning. "There are still rules, Sherlock. No explosions, no fires, and _absolutely_ no turning yourself into a Mr. Hyde."  
   
Sherlock frowned dramatically, but his eyes were twinkling. "Honestly, John. You're no fun at all."  
   
John's eyes darkened momentarily, but then he smirked. "Oh, I think we just may have different ideas of what 'fun' actually entails." His voice was a lazy growl, and Greg watched with interest as Sherlock shuddered visibly at his hungry tone.  
   
"Mm." Sherlock conceded John's point with a wordless murmur, trying to hide his reaction by taking a sip of tea. His eyes slid sideways to glance at Greg, who could only shake his head in bemusement, grinning widely. Sherlock turned to face Greg, cocking his head to the side as if studying him. "You know, I could really kick myself. I can't believe I've been so _stupid_."  
   
John sighed. "We all know you're anything but stupid, Sherlock. What are you on about now?"

Sherlock turned to John incredulously. "Have you _seen_ this man?"

John laughed out loud. "I've seen a fair bit of him, yes." He winked at Greg. "Probably every bit, in fact."

"But that smile... I mean - it..." Sherlock stared in wonder.

John braced his arms on the table and contemplated Greg seriously. "Yeah. It kinda lights you up on the inside, doesn't it?" He watched in delight as the blush spread over Greg's cheeks.

Sherlock frowned slightly, pondering. "How had I not noticed it before?"

Greg cleared his throat and turned in his seat, interlacing his knees with Sherlock's. "You usually only see me at crime scenes or at the Yard, Sherlock. I don't make it a habit to grin like a damned fool when I'm working. You and John may feel free to giggle like a couple of schoolgirls whilst bent over a dead body, but I'm afraid I don't have that luxury."

Sherlock straightened in his seat. "I see. Well, I'm looking forward to seeing it more often, then. It's very pleasant." He ducked his head slightly, looking at Greg from under dark lashes. "It makes me feel - nice. Warm."

Greg's mouth dropped open as he stared at the wanton expression on Sherlock's face. Everything in his awareness shrunk down to electric blue-green eyes and softly pouting, impossibly lush lips. He started to lean into Sherlock, but then felt John's strong arms twining around him from behind.

"Greg - wait..."

Greg heaved in a breath and let it out with a little whine. "Oh, but _John_... Look at him. Just - _look_." He bit his lower lip. " _Ngh_."

John moved in closer to Greg's body, pressing the line of his hardening cock against his lower back. Greg moaned aloud, his head falling back onto John's shoulder. John's voice was deep and breathy in his ear. "Oh, I see him. Utterly fucking _gorgeous_ , as always." He lessened his grip, smoothing his hands down Greg's chest to his belly. "But there are things we need to know first. Right?"

Greg nodded feebly. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deep through his nose and attempted to clamp down on his libido. " _Jesus_." John held him, solid at his back as he fought for control. He lifted his head from John's shoulder and opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring at him with mixed amusement and disappointment.

His eyes flickered to John. "Is this the bit where you ask me about my sexual history?" John nodded brusquely. "Well, that's easy enough. I haven't any." He glanced down, brushing toast crumbs off his dressing gown with studied nonchalance.  
   
"None at all?" Greg could hear the frown in John's voice.  
   
"Near enough as to make no odds... A few fumblings as a teenager that yielded rather disappointing results. An aborted attempt at a blowjob in the school privy. That sort of thing."  
   
"Aborted... _what_?"   
   
Sherlock sighed. "I barely had his fly open before he came. It splattered all over my shirt! And then he skittered out of there like his arse was on fire. It was an absolutely ridiculous situation. The housekeeper was furious when she did the wash." He changed the pitch and timbre of his voice, mockingly. "Honestly, Sherlock, you could at least take off your shirt before attempting to go down on the captain of the football team."  
   
Greg choked and he heard John sniggering breathlessly behind him. "And that was when you decided..."  
   
"It wasn't worth it. Unsatisfying results for too much effort. So I ignored my body's urges. I determined that if I didn't reward it, then the baser desires would retreat. For the most part, it worked." He shrugged. "Every now and again, the urge is too great to ignore, so I take care of it. Quickly and efficiently." He folded his hands in his lap primly. "It's not like there was anybody that captured my attention in that manner anyway. Everybody was so dull." He glanced aside quickly. "There was a momentary derailment about, oh, eight years ago or so, but I was able to wrest my body back under my control eventually."  
   
Greg cleared his throat. "But then you met John." Sherlock smiled shyly.  
   
"Yes. He's anything but dull. He...seems to have knocked my libido out of hibernation. Permanently."  
   
Greg chuckled. "That's the Captain Watson Effect. Little bugger just _oozes_ sex appeal." John cuffed him lightly on the back of the head before dropping his chin on Greg's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his middle.  
   
Sherlock's gaze flickered between their faces with consternation. He sighed. "You two... It's almost too much..."  
   
Greg grinned again. "Oh, I think you'll be able to handle it."  
   
John laughed before sobering slightly. "Sherlock, there's something else... When you were... well..."  
   
"Using?" Sherlock's voice was sharp, his eyes hooded.  
   
John sighed deeply. "Yes."  
   
He held up a hand and started ticking off points. "I never shared or used a dirty needle. The nice people down at the needle exchange were _very_ familiar with me. I never tricked myself out for anything. I never allowed anyone to use me while I was high, and I was never molested, even when I was completely out of it."  
   
"How can you be sure?"  
   
"Because of Lestrade."  
   
Greg blinked. "Um, beg pardon?"  
   
"Wherever I ended up, you would be sure to find me. Whether that was all my brother or because you had your own contacts, I knew that you would eventually come for me. So did all the others. They knew that you were with the Yard, so they knew to leave me alone. Simple."  
   
"Wait, so I was some kind of de facto bodyguard for you while you were out destroying yourself?" Greg pondered. "I don't know whether to be proud of myself or disgusted..."  
   
Sherlock smirked. "If you enter into a relationship with me, it may not be the last time you have such conflicting thoughts." John huffed laughter against the warm flesh of Greg's neck. Sherlock straightened slightly. "And what about you two, then? Anything that I need to know about before I decide to just rip off your pants and have you right here on the kitchen table?"  
   
Greg stiffened in John's grip and turned an absolutely pleading look on him. He whined again. " _John_..." John shook his head slightly. "You are both going to _kill_ me. I am _dying_ here, do you realise that? What the hell kind of doctor are you, anyway? Heartless bastard, that's what kind. Going to let a man perish right before your eyes..." John rolled his eyes and slipped a hand over Greg's mouth, cutting off a string of obscenities.

Sherlock watched this with amusement, eyebrows quirking as Greg's mouth continued to move under John's hand.  
   
"We're tested regularly, and always use protection when penetration is involved. Protection is also used with any third parties at all times. No exceptions. I am a medical man, Sherlock. I know the risks and precautions better than most."  
   
"Mistakes can happen, John. Especially in the heat of the moment."  
   
"Not with me, they don't."  
   
Sherlock eyed him and sniffed. "Of course not." His eyes dropped to his fingers, twisting uneasily in his lap. "About the 'third parties'... I'd rather... Well - can I be your third party? I mean - the only one? I don't know if - if I'll be enough for you both, but it's just - well, if it's just us three, then we don't need barriers, do we? I - I don't want anything to come between us. Ever."

Greg stopped mouthing curses into John's hand and sucked in a quick breath through his nose. How did he know? Of course, it was Sherlock - but still. How did he know just the word to use? For all of his insistence on protection - and he was _very_ insistent - John absolutely hated condoms. It wasn't the loss of physical sensation, as neither of them had a problem finishing while wearing one. Greg knew that, for John, they represented a mental barrier as well as a physical one. He had been waiting for the day that John would no longer insist, because that would be the day that he knew that John trusted him completely. That would be the day that they really connected, in all the ways that mattered. Had that day finally arrived?  
   
John's mouth dropped open, his grip on Greg's mouth slackening. Greg quickly took advantage, slipping John's middle fingers into his mouth and sucking on them deeply. He felt John's body shudder against him, a hard line growing against the small of his back. Still working on John's fingers, Greg reached a hand out to Sherlock, who immediately stood and straddled his left knee, leaning in to kiss John, first on the temple and then on the hollow of ear and jawline before moving to his lips.

Bending over Greg's shoulder to capture John's mouth made the long line of Sherlock's neck far too tempting for Greg to ignore. He let John's fingers slip from his mouth and ran his tongue from the hollow of Sherlock's throat along and around his jawline to his earlobe. Sucking it in between his lips, he bit down gently. Sherlock's thighs tightened around his and he crowded in closer, pressing his erection into the side of Greg's belly.

Greg shifted slightly, reaching behind John to cup his arse and did the same to Sherlock. They both paused in their snogging to moan aloud, and the feeling and pure sound of their pleasure surrounding Greg was nearly enough to set him off right then and there. His body shuddered violently and he spit out a curse.

"Jesus, _fuck_!"

John pulled away slightly. "Greg, you all right?"

"No, I am not bloody well 'all right'! I am _suffering_ here, John. I need someone _on_ me or _in_ me in the next two minutes or I will sodding well _explode_!"

John started to giggle madly, half-bent at the waist. After a moment, Sherlock joined in, his amusement echoing in his chest and rumbling against Greg's cheek. Greg raised his eyes to the ceiling imploringly.

"Sweet Lord, preserve me. I just may go mad here, and both my lovely blokes are laughing at me. _Laughing_ , I tell you."

Sherlock caressed his shoulders and smiled indulgently. "I had no idea you could be so melodramatic, Greg."

"Only when he's really, _really_ horny."

Sherlock's mouth turned down in a little moue of disappointment. "That's a shame. The Globe is missing out on quite the natural talent here. Although, I imagine the patrons wouldn't take too kindly to being presented with a hard cock night after night. As magnificent as it is..." Sherlock's voice deepened into a rich growl as he palmed Greg through his pants.

"OhChristohJesus. Please, Lord. Sweet God in heaven..." Greg pulled him in between his spread thighs and drew him down for a kiss. "Sherlock, _please_." He attempted his best wounded puppy-dog look, big brown eyes looking up adoringly. "Please?"

Sherlock pulled him to his feet and quickly shucked him out of every stitch of clothing before pushing him against the table. "Just for the record, Detective Inspector, giving me 'the eyes' will not work." He leaned into Greg's ear and whispered throatily. "The begging, however... Now, that - I _like_."

Greg huffed out a weak laugh as Sherlock slid down his body, licking and nibbling and sucking as he did so. "You would, wouldn't you?" And then Sherlock was on his knees before him, utterly gorgeous and desperately needy. "Saints preserve. Sherlock, I may not - well, I may just re-enact your first not-so-great experience. Just so you're prepared and all."

"Don't be ridiculous, Greg. You aren't an over-sexed sixteen year old."

"No, just an over-sexed forty-five year old." John's breath ghosted over Greg's neck, and he pushed himself up for a kiss.

"Besides, even if you do splatter all over me, I'm fairly certain that I won't be traumatised. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now. And I want _everything_ you could ever possibly give me. Accidents and all."

Greg's knees buckled. He only stayed upright because of his own solid grip on the table behind him. John quickly wound his right arm around his waist and held him tightly. "I have you, love. I won't let you fall." John smirked. "I won't let you pop off too soon, either." He reached down and encircled the base of Greg's cock between thumb and forefinger, squeezing firmly.

Greg immediately felt some of the pressure lessen. He sighed and wrapped his left arm around John before ducking his head down for another kiss. "John, you are brilliant. Have I told you that lately? You. Are. _Brilliant_."

"Yes, dear." He looked down at Sherlock, who had watched this exchange from on his knees, running his fingers over Greg's thighs aimlessly. He looked eager, but uncertain. "Sherlock?" Sherlock blinked up at him for a moment, tilting his head.

John smiled down at him. "Don't worry about getting it perfect the first time. Just start whenever you like. Nice and easy at first. Play with it. Explore. You're good at that."

"Mm." Sherlock acknowledged this with a wordless murmur as he licked one long stripe along the underside of Greg's cock. He sat back and smacked his lips a little as he looked at them both in turn. "Yum." His eyes lit up as they both shivered under his gaze.

"God, you're a little tart, aren't you?"

Sherlock shuffled closer, settling his knees directly below Greg's spread thighs and then sitting back on his heels. He licked again, swirling his tongue around the head of Greg's cock before making eye contact. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Greg moaned.  
   
John laughed quietly as Sherlock attempted to take all of Greg into his mouth at once and choked a little. "You might have to work up to that, Sherlock. He's a bit thicker than most. Even I had a little trouble at first." Greg quivered as Sherlock let him slip out of his mouth.  
   
"But John - both you and Greg have emphasised on numerous occasions just how big my mouth is." He quirked his head to the side and studied the specimen bobbing in front of his nose. "It should fit."  
   
John released Greg's cock and ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls. "One day you'll be able to take it all. Walking before running, love." He reached down and took Greg's bollocks in his hands. "Don't neglect these, either." He tugged gently. Sherlock watched with interest as Greg's eyelids fluttered and his breath hitched in his chest. "Hands and tongue and lips... And teeth. Our lad here isn't like most blokes, Sherlock. He _loves_ teeth on his cock, or anywhere, really." Greg stared, wide-eyed, down at Sherlock as his lips turned up in a wicked grin. "Just be careful not to break the skin, all right?"  
   
Sherlock nodded. "Teeth. Interesting."

"Sometimes I think he's more of a ruddy alpha wolf than a man... He does so love to mark his conquests." John ran his fingers down the right side of Sherlock's neck, where the lovebite that Greg had administered earlier in the morning had flowered into a vibrant purple bruise.

Sherlock hissed a little at the contact, stretching his neck. "I'm not a _conquest_."

"Not yet." Greg's voice was little more than a growl, and Sherlock shuddered deliciously. Greg fisted his free hand into Sherlock's curls, tilting his head back. He bent down for a deep and ferocious kiss before locking eyes. "Suck me, Sherlock. Bite me. _Mark_ me. Make me yours, and then I'll return the favour."

Sherlock's eyes went wide and his face paled as blood was suddenly redirected. He swayed slightly. " _Jesus_ , Greg." He palmed his own erection through his dressing gown, shifting uneasily. "Jesus."

Greg smirked and released him, leaning against the table once more. John shook his head slightly. "Beast."

Greg pulled John in closer and nipped at earlobe and jaw. "And you love it."

"God help me, I do." John captured Greg's mouth just as Sherlock decided to remind everyone in the room that yes, hello - I'm still here and I've been given something very delicate and sensitive to play with, thank you very much...

Greg groaned into John's mouth so loudly it made him jump. John looked down in surprise to see Sherlock's teeth firmly set into the tender skin of Greg's inner thigh. Then those plush lips closed around the flesh, and he sucked deeply, eyes fluttering closed. Greg's body went a little boneless, and John was forced to renew his grip on his waist to prevent him from collapsing onto Sherlock. He held fast as Sherlock switched to the other leg, biting and sucking another mark into Greg's flesh. He sat back to admire his handiwork, wrapping his hands around Greg's thighs and pressing his thumbs into the sensitive spots. Greg gasped and shuddered.

Satisfied that he was once again the centre of attention, Sherlock eyed both Greg and John as he cupped Greg's bollocks, weighing them in his hand. He leaned in and nosed at them, relishing the soft and heavy feel of them against his cheek. Then he deftly sucked one into his mouth, rolling it on his tongue and humming around it vaguely.

"Oh, good _God_. Sherlock - _ngh_." Greg's voice petered out into incoherent babbling as Sherlock moved to the other side to give it the same treatment. Then there was only ragged breathing as Sherlock wrapped his long white fingers around Greg's flushed cock and brought his mouth to the head. He stuck out the tip of his tongue to lap up the bead of pre-come glistening on the tip and then slid his lips over the glans.  
   
Greg's hips twitched, but he just barely managed to hold himself back. John kissed his jaw and murmured in his ear. "Well done, love. Wouldn't want a repeat of the first time I had you in my mouth, would we?" Greg's head spun a little at the memory, and the extraordinary feeling of Sherlock's lips and tongue on him. They both looked down as Sherlock opened his mouth wide, attempting to take as much of Greg's cock as possible. Then he closed down gently, leaving his lips pulled back so Greg could watch as his teeth scraped lightly along his shaft.  
   
"Sherlock..." A mere whisper. "Again." Sherlock glanced up, teeth set gently but firmly around the head of Greg's cock. Greg moaned. " _Please_." Sherlock obliged, scraping his canines down as much of the length as he could manage. Greg raised a shaking hand to Sherlock's head, caressing the dark curls. "You are _gorgeous_." Sherlock smiled around Greg's cock, running his teeth from side to side. "Jesus." Greg's breath hitched. "Love you, madman."  
   
Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed, and he began to move his head in earnest, pumping with fist and mouth in tandem. His free hand tugged at Greg's bollocks, reaching behind to stroke his perineum. John leant in, kissing Greg's neck, nibbling at chest and collarbone.  
   
"Sherl - _Christ_. Sherlock...I'm close, baby. So c-close..." Greg groaned as Sherlock twisted and swirled around him. "Yes, right there. _Oh God_... I'm - I'm..." Sherlock pressed down on his perineum firmly and as he felt Greg harden even further in his mouth, he bit down, just as John set his teeth into Greg's neck. The resulting cry as Greg spent into Sherlock's mouth reverberated around the tiny kitchen and could clearly be heard all the way to Angelo's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg needs reassurances...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was turning out to be quite long, so I've had to divvy it up a bit. More action to come in Ch. 6!
> 
> Please comment, feedback is always appreciated...

Greg came down from his orgasm to the sensation of Sherlock licking him clean, triggering minor quakes as his tongue swiped across oversensitive tissue. Sherlock stared up at him, silver-blue eyes almost black, pupils blown wide with desire. John allowed Greg to slip to the floor, straddling Sherlock's thighs.

Sherlock swayed slightly under Greg's weight, so John kneeled behind him and pulled Sherlock's back to his chest, offering silent support. Sherlock leant against him gratefully, running his fingers through Greg's silver hair as he returned his messy kisses.

"Oh, _God_... Sherlock - you taste like _me_." Sherlock smiled against Greg's lips and deftly slipped his tongue into his mouth. Greg groaned and he moved down Sherlock's neck, lightly sucking at his Adam's apple. He slipped his fingers into the dressing gown and caressed bare flesh.

"Greg..." Sherlock's voice was breathy, absolutely intoxicating to Greg's ears. He hummed as he nipped along Sherlock's collarbone, sliding his hands further down his chest. "Greg. _Stop_." Greg pulled away instantly, hurt filling his eyes. Sherlock's brow creased as he captured Greg's face in his hands. "No, don't look like that. You'll get your chance. Just - _not_ here." He eyed the kitchen lino with severe distaste. "God knows what kind of effluvia I've inadvertently left behind on this surface..."

Greg chuckled as he stood, and held out a hand to help Sherlock up. "You make a very good point, as usual." Sherlock smirked and leant in for a chaste kiss on Greg's cheek. He turned and headed for the hall, pausing in the doorway as Greg lent a hand to John, who had remained kneeling on the floor. He watched as Greg pulled John into a close embrace, pressing his cheek to the top of John's head. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I cannot _believe_ this is actually happening."

John chuckled lightly and rubbed Greg's back comfortingly. "Relax, love. You're doing just fine."

"Greg." The two men turned to Sherlock, framed in the doorway. "Do you remember the night we met?"

"Course I do. Changed my life, din't it?" Greg grinned.

Sherlock blinked at him. "I still can't get over that smile."

"And you never will." John gave Greg's waist a squeeze as the grin widened.

Sherlock shook himself. "Do you remember what I said about my limits?"

Greg frowned slightly, thinking back to that awkward moment almost eight years ago. "Yeah. Scott didn't tan your arse because you left your pants on. You said 'clothing means no'."

Sherlock smiled as he pulled the tie on his dressing gown loose and let the silken fabric fall back off his shoulders. "Precisely." He stood proudly naked, a hand on one bony hip, erection standing high and straight. Greg's mouth went dry and he felt John sway slightly next to him. In the next moment, Sherlock had turned and was heading toward his bedroom, trailing the dressing gown behind him like a tail.

John spoke first. "Bloody peacock."

Greg giggled. "How d'ya want to handle this, then?"

"This one's all yours, sweetheart." Greg cocked his head to the side, and John sighed. "Look. Whatever happened between you two all those years ago, Sherlock has clearly never gotten over it. He managed to suppress it, of course, because he's Sherlock sodding Holmes. Whether subconsciously or no, he's wanted this - he's wanted _you_ \- for a very long time." John pulled Greg down for a deep kiss. "Don't disappoint him." Greg eyed him with uncertainty, still unable to believe his luck. John kissed him again. "I'll be right there with you."

"Greg." Sherlock's voice echoed down the hallway. "If you persist in waffling, I'll just have John pick you up and carry you in here. Don't think that he can't - or won't."

John winked at Greg before taking his hand and leading him toward Sherlock's bedroom.

"John, you wouldn't..."

"You heard His Majesty. His wish - my command."

"Turncoat. You were my soldier first."

John noted the seriousness underlying Greg's teasing tone and stopped just outside Sherlock's bedroom to pull his lover close. "I still am. If I thought you would regret this, I wouldn't let you. You know that I'd fight for you." Greg just nodded, unable to trust his voice. John turned him around and gave his bare bum a sharp slap. "Go on, then. I cannot wait to see what he has in mind for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John relents...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this as a teaser chapter... I was hoping to have more to post, but I'm getting ready for a vacation and this chapter just keeps growing and growing. Apparently, Greg likes to take certain things verrrryyy slllooowwlly... And Sherlock may be headed for a minor breakdown. Not sure yet, because he hasn't told me!
> 
> Also, I've come to notice that I don't seem to have a lot of plot going on here. I'm more interested in the interactions between the boys and the way they relate to each other, via physical contact. :-) Do you guys want to see something other than lots and lots of sex? Just curious - feedback is always appreciated.

Sherlock was stretched out on his belly on the bed, head pillowed on his arms, facing the footboard. Greg stepped close to the bed and reached out his left hand, trailing it lightly from ankle to calf to thigh and upward. Sherlock arched into every point of contact between his flesh and Greg's hand.

Greg smiled down at him. "You're a much more pleasant color this time around..."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm sure I smell better, too."

Greg leaned down and ran his nose along Sherlock's spine. "I'll say you do. Much, much better..." He dipped his nose a little lower, planting a kiss smack in the middle of Sherlock's left buttock.

Sherlock squirmed. He glanced over his shoulder, giving Greg a calculating and yet smouldering look. "I know you want to. It's okay." He wriggled again. "In fact, I'd rather like you to."

Greg winked and then obliged, tonguing lightly before biting and sucking at Sherlock's surprisingly fleshy arse. Sherlock gasped and moaned at every scrape of Greg's teeth on his skin. Greg paused and laid his forehead on the small of Sherlock's back, breathing deeply. He kneaded the firm flesh with his hands, running his thumbs along the cleft of Sherlock's arse. Greg felt Sherlock tense underneath him as he parted his cheeks. He licked his lips, considering.  
   
"Gregory." Both Greg and Sherlock jumped a little, and glanced up to where John was standing at the foot of the bed. "No. Not yet." John's eyes flickered between the two men. "We'll get tested. All of us. If the results are what we expect them to be, then..."  
   
"Then what?" Greg's voice was husky as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed next to Sherlock.  
   
John went to him, running his fingers through Greg's silver hair. "Then anything goes." He pulled Greg's head to his chest and held out a hand for Sherlock to grasp eagerly. John chuckled at the delighted smile on Sherlock's face. "No barriers. Not between us."  
   
Greg ran his hands up John's back, underneath his vest. He held him tight for a moment, but the cloth between his cheek and John's chest proved to be too irritating. He leaned back and clutched at the fabric. "Bah. Take this blasted thing off, John. Why aren't you naked, anyway?"  
   
"Because this isn't about me. Not right now."  
   
"Sherlock can wait. He's waited eight years, he can wait another bloody fifteen minutes." Sherlock huffed impatiently, but his eyes were sparkling. "Take it off, all of it. I want to see you... I need to feel you. _Off._ Now. Nownownow..."  
   
"All right, all right. Calm _down_ , love." He lifted the vest over his head and felt Greg tugging down his pants impatiently. John couldn't help but laugh as Greg wrapped arms and legs around him, pressing in as close as possible, burying his nose in John's sternum. "It's not like I proposed, you silly git." He caressed Greg's head and back gently.  
   
"You may as well have. I know what this means to you, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A relaxing interlude...

John didn't say anything. He just let his lover cling to him, until he noticed Sherlock fidgeting uneasily. John caught his eye and jerked his head minutely. Sherlock blinked and then scrambled to his knees, scooting over to envelop Greg's back with his body. Sherlock ran his fingers along Greg's sides, a pleased smile coming to his face as Greg shivered under his touch.  
   
"Greg..." Deep but breathy, right in his ear. Greg shivered again, and slowly unwrapped his legs from John's waist. "Greg. I want your hands on me." Sherlock ran his nose along Greg's neck, grinning as he lessened his hold on John's torso, just enough for Sherlock to slip his arms around him and hold him tight. He tugged backwards slightly. "Me now. My turn. You said you'd return the favour." Sherlock tugged again. "You said. Make me yours, Greg. I want to be yours."  
   
Greg finally released John, belly quaking with laughter. He looked into John's slate-blue eyes and shook his head. "Good lord. What have we gotten ourselves into?"  
   
John smirked. "Did you really expect anything less?"   
   
Greg laughed again as Sherlock kept muttering, "me now, me - mine," into his neck.  
   
He winked at John and turned his head to the side. "Okay, baby. Okay. Your turn." He patted Sherlock's arm and gave him a quick nod. "As you were." Sherlock squeezed Greg once more before resuming his previous position. Greg ran his hand up Sherlock's back, resting it in between his shoulder blades.

Sherlock sighed happily. "Your hands. They're just as I remember."

Greg hummed. "Some things don't change. What is it that you want?"

"I want you to make me feel like you did that night. Cared for. Warm. Safe."

John picked up a bottle from the bedside table and pressed it into Greg's hand. Massage oil. Greg smiled a little sadly as John settled on the far side of the bed next to Sherlock's head. "I was surprised that you had reacted so strongly that night. You hadn't been touched much, had you?"

Sherlock shook his head, and John ran his fingers through his curls. "It surprised me as well. I had never viewed something as banal as the touch of another's hand to be so vitally important." He glanced back at Greg. "Your life wasn't the only one that was changed that night. It just took me longer to come to terms with it."  
   
Greg bent down and brushed his lips across Sherlock's cheek before squeezing some of the massage oil onto his palm. He passed the bottle back over to John, who ran it between his hands to warm it.  
   
"Thanks, love." Greg rubbed his hands together and started on Sherlock's calves, one in each hand.  
   
Sherlock sighed. "Greg?"  
   
"Mm?"  
   
"Why is John 'love' and I'm 'baby'?"  
   
Greg's hands stilled briefly and he chuckled. "I dunno, Sherlock. It's just what comes out. It seems to fit, somehow." He reached for Sherlock's left thigh and began rubbing deep circles into the muscle. Sherlock sighed again, exhaling with a low moan. "Does it bother you?"  
   
"No, not at all. Which is a bit odd, frankly."  
   
Greg switched to his right thigh, and Sherlock bit back another moan. "How so?"  
   
"Whenever I had encountered the phenomena before, people whispering disgusting endearments to each other, it had always made me feel vaguely ill. But not when you two do it."  
   
Greg quirked an eyebrow at John and then clambered onto the bed, straddling and then settling down on the back of Sherlock's thighs.  
   
" _Oof_."  
   
Greg smacked his arse lightly. "I'm not that heavy, you brat."  
   
Sherlock huffed. "I like 'baby' better."  
   
John laughed as he tipped the bottle of oil over Sherlock's back, leaving a glistening trail down his spine. Greg hummed appreciatively before leaning his weight forward and running the flat of his palms from Sherlock's tailbone all the way up to his neck.

"Oh, _God_..." It was almost as if Greg had wrung the groan straight out of Sherlock's belly.

John sighed. "You're making me jealous, Sherlock."

Greg smiled smugly as Sherlock turned his head to regard John seriously. "He's never done this for you?" He gave voice to another groan as Greg concentrated his efforts on his bum and lower back.  
   
"Not to this extent, no. We tend to get... distracted in the early stages of the process."  
   
"Ah." Sherlock considered. "Perhaps you just need to sate him first. Like I did."  
   
John turned his amused gaze to Greg's face, smirking ever-so-slightly. "I'll take that under advisement."  
   
Greg snorted as he moved up Sherlock's back to his neck and shoulders, steadily rubbing and kneading at his lean muscles. Soon enough he had worked the younger man into little more than a Sherlock-shaped puddle on the bed. Greg ran his hands up Sherlock's arms, capturing his wrists in his hands. He carefully lowered his weight onto Sherlock's back and rested his cheek on his shoulder.  
   
"Hey baby."  
   
" _Mm_. Hi."  
   
"How ya feelin'?"  
   
"Good." He sighed gustily. "Very, very good."  
   
"Wanna feel better?"  
   
"Dunno. M'too relaxed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets Greg right where he wants him...

John chuckled quietly. Greg hummed and ran his fingertips back down Sherlock's arms, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. He levered himself up so that his weight wasn't pressing him down, but kept his skin in contact with Sherlock's. He mouthed at the nape of his neck before gently biting down. Sherlock shifted minutely underneath him.  
   
" _Ohh_..."  
   
Greg slowly moved back down Sherlock's body, gently kissing and biting all the way, with light teasing touches. Sherlock squirmed and writhed with increasing urgency as Greg worked his way down. Greg sat back, still straddling Sherlock's thighs. He ran his fingertips ever so lightly along and across the cleft of Sherlock's arse. Sherlock hissed out a quick breath as he bucked up underneath him.

" _Greg_. Let me - I need to..."

Greg leant forward, nibbling once more at Sherlock's long white neck. "Need what, baby?" Sherlock bucked again. Greg chuckled as he rolled his weight off the lean body, resting his head in John's lap. John carded his fingers through Greg's silver hair as he kept his fingertips running light touches along and over and under Sherlock's arse and inner thighs. Sherlock parted his legs to give Greg more access.  
   
Sherlock shivered. "That. Oh God. More. Greg, I need _more_."  
   
"Are you sure?"  
   
Sherlock turned his head and kissed him ferociously. "I trust you, Greg. Now. Give. Me. More."  
   
Greg smiled before looking up at John with a question in his eyes.  
   
John pursed his lips. "Hands." Greg held them up silently and John inspected them briefly but thoroughly. "No cuts or abrasions, nails nice and smooth. You're good."  
   
"Thank you, Doctor Watson." Greg got to his knees once again and positioned himself in between Sherlock's spread thighs. John trickled a little more of the oil along Sherlock's arse crack and giggled when he squirmed. Greg smacked his arse lightly. "It'll be easier if you're up on your knees a bit." Sherlock complied, keeping his knees spread as he brought them underneath his body. Sherlock wiggled experimentally, and Greg sucked in a breath. " _Beautiful_."  
   
In the next moment, he had the tip of his middle finger at Sherlock's pink arsehole, circling lightly. Sherlock jerked minutely, body tensing. After a few seconds he relaxed. After a few more seconds, he started pushing back against Greg's finger.  
   
"Sherlock..."  
   
"I said _more_ , Greg. What part of that did you not understand?"  
   
John reached out and caressed Sherlock's head. "Sherlock, my love... Have you ever actually experimented with that region before?"  
   
Sherlock lifted himself on to his elbows and rolled his eyes. "You mean my arse? No need to be so delicate, John." John smacked his shoulder lightly. Sherlock huffed. "No. I - thought about it a time or two, but ultimately decided it was too awkward and potentially messy."  
   
"Well then. As you can well imagine, having something - anything - unceremoniously shoved up there can hurt, and there's a potential for serious injury."  
   
"I can take pain."  
   
"Sherlock. What is the one thing that you know about Greg, above all else?"  
   
"He's ridiculously caring."  
   
"Right. So if he hurt you? Even if by accident?"  
   
"Oh. Not good."  
   
"Just a bit."

"Hm."  
   
Greg caught John's eyes and smiled slightly before silently mouthing, _'Distract him'_. John caught his meaning immediately and slid down in the bed until he was lying next to Sherlock. He insinuated himself underneath the taller man and began to snog him intently. Sherlock moaned breathily and gave himself over to John, exploring his mouth eagerly.

Greg caressed his lower back with his right hand, keeping the left stroking and circling around Sherlock's arsehole. When he felt Sherlock's body go somewhat limp, he slowly inserted his middle finger, pausing at the clench of Sherlock's body. He waited, minutely wiggling his finger against the inner ring of muscle, until Sherlock relaxed again. Greg pushed past the second barrier until his finger was firmly seated in Sherlock's arse.

" _Oh_."

John chuckled lightly as he caressed Sherlock's arms. "All right, then?"

Greg wiggled his finger and Sherlock gasped. "I - I'm not sure. Just feels odd."

"Hm. Let's see..." Greg twisted his wrist and pressed downward slightly, seeking out Sherlock's prostate. "Should be about here, I think." The tip of his finger brushed gently against the small spongy mass and Sherlock jumped as though he had been electrocuted.

"That's - oh..." Greg grinned and pressed a little harder, moving his finger in small circles. Sherlock's body stiffened. "Oh, _fuck_!" His head dropped onto John's chest and he mewled as he rolled his hips into Greg's hand.

Greg laughed darkly. "Yeah, that's the spot."

Sherlock flashed him a smouldering look over his shoulder. "More."

Greg reached for the bottle of lube on the bedside table. "All right." He withdrew his finger, a low jolt of desire pooling in his belly as Sherlock keened quietly. He squeezed lube onto his fingers and inserted two, slowly moving them in and out. He hummed in appreciation as Sherlock moved against him. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

Sherlock moaned. " _More_ , Greg. Oh, God. I need more." He looked over his shoulder again, eyes blazing. "You said you'd make me yours. Fuck me, Greg."

Greg sucked in a quick breath and abruptly inserted a third finger, twisting and plunging into Sherlock's eager body. He cried out and clutched at John, lying still beneath him. "Oh, good _Christ_. I didn't think I'd be able to, but Jesus - the sight of you." Greg stroked his cock, grinning as it stiffened fully.

He withdrew and reached for a condom, ripping it open with shaking fingers. Once it was secured, he applied more lube, making sure it was completely slick. He lined himself up with Sherlock's hole and pushed gently, oh-so-gently until just the head of his prick popped in. "Oh, fuck, you're tight."

Sherlock moaned and tried to push into him. John grasped his arms and squeezed. "Wait, love. I know it's difficult, but you have to be patient."

"I've never been a cautious man, John."

"Oh, we are all  _entirely_ too aware of that fact." John caressed his face, kissing his eyelids and cheeks and jawline before taking his mouth. "Stop thinking. Focus on me, not on what's going on back there. You need to relax." He smiled gently. "Let Greg take charge."

Sherlock's silver-blue eyes searched John's open face. "All right." John pulled him down, snogging him deeply. Sherlock relaxed into John's insistent caresses, shutting down his racing thoughts and allowing himself to just feel.

Greg could almost sense the moment when Sherlock truly let go, his spine dipping and lengthening under his hands. Greg pushed again, neatly sliding past the second ring of muscle. He paused again, his entire body shivering with the tension of holding still.

Sherlock moaned low in his throat, but he didn't push back, keeping his muscles relaxed and body pliable. Greg smiled and ran his hands up the long line of his back, laying a tender kiss on Sherlock's spine. He pushed a little deeper as he came back up, trailing his fingers along Sherlock's sides as he moved.

Greg repeated the motion, curving his back and making as much contact between his body and Sherlock's that he could. Again, as he came up, he pushed deeper, finally seating himself fully into Sherlock's tight heat. Greg's body shuddered and he groaned.

He rocked a little experimentally, breathing a little sigh as the motion came easily and with no immediate protest from Sherlock. Greg pulled out halfway and slid back in, groaning again. "Sweet Jesus, Sherlock, you feel _fantastic_." He thrust again, pulling nearly all the way out. "And if you could only see yourself... So fucking gorgeous."

Sherlock's body shuddered and he choked back a cry, burying his nose in John's neck. John fisted his hands in Sherlock's curls and kissed his forehead. "All right, love?"

Sherlock's voice was low, wondering. "Better than all right. I didn't know. How could I not know that it would be like this?"

Greg thrust deep, holding himself there as he bent over his lover's back. Sherlock groaned again. "Like what, baby?"

Sherlock looked at him over his shoulder. "Perfect. It's...so good. So _right_. You're perfect, Greg." His head dropped forward again. "And I denied you for so long. Too long. We could have had this years ago, if I hadn't been so stupid and stubborn."

"None of that, now." Greg nipped at Sherlock's shoulder. "Stop looking back. Now is what matters, yeah? You weren't ready then, and neither was I." Greg looked over Sherlock's shoulder, catching John's eye. "Besides, if it had happened before, then we wouldn't have John, would we?"

Sherlock gently traced the lines of John's face. "Some things are worth waiting for."

John smiled brightly. "Exactly."

Greg wrapped his left arm around Sherlock's waist and his right around his chest. "C'mere. Move with me." Greg sat back on his heels, keeping himself connected to Sherlock as he moved. Sherlock fell against him limply, throwing his head back and resting it on Greg's shoulder. Greg hummed contentedly and wrapped a hand around the long line of Sherlock's exposed throat. He kissed and nipped at shoulder and neck until Sherlock started rocking slowly on his lap.

John scrambled to his knees and positioned himself in front of the joined couple. He ran his fingers down the sides of Sherlock's arms, taking his hands and placing them on his shoulders. Greg moved his hands to Sherlock's hips before speaking low in his ear.  
   
"Use me, Sherlock. Take your pleasure from me." Sherlock's body shivered and he gasped. "Can you do that for me?" In response, Sherlock lifted himself slightly, using John as support. He sank back down on Greg's lap, breath hitching in his chest. He repeated the motion, sliding further off each time, and sinking down as far as he could. Sherlock moaned with every motion, a quiet growl resonating in his chest.  
   
Greg leant back slightly and groaned. "Fuck. So good..." He let his hands wander over every bit of Sherlock that he could touch, his hands occasionally colliding with John's as he did the same.  
   
"Jesus, Greg. If you could only see his face..."   
   
"Oh, I will. I'm going to see and feel and touch every bit of him."  
   
Sherlock shivered and continued to fuck himself on Greg's cock, his motions maddeningly slow. Greg ran his fingers along his inner thigh and cupped his bollocks, already pulled up promisingly tight. He slid his hand upward, wrapping it loosely around Sherlock's cock. It was slender, but long. Greg smiled to himself. Just like the lanky git to have a lanky cock to match... He squeezed and stroked his new prize, but stopped when he felt a surprisingly strong grip on his wrist.  
   
"Greg - no - I can't... I don't..." Greg felt his eyes widen at the sound of tears in his lover's voice. John's hands came up to cradle Sherlock's face and he leant in for a kiss.  
   
"Sherlock." Greg wrapped his arms around him, stilling his motion. "Are you hurt?"  
   
He shook his head, curls bouncing. "No. Not hurt. I just - I don't want it to end." Sherlock heaved a sigh, breath stuttering into a sob. "I never want it to end..."

Greg held him tightly and rode out the brief wave of tears. He found the quaking of Sherlock's body against and around his oddly arousing, and he felt himself grow a little harder inside him. Sherlock's sobs abruptly ceased and he huffed out a quiet laugh, sniffling as he did so.

"Shh... Sherlock, we have time. If you don't want to do this now, we don't have to. I don't want to rush you."

Another sniffle. "Don't be an idiot, Greg. I finally have you right where I've wanted you for years. I may never let you leave this bed."

"Then what's wrong, baby?" Greg rocked his hips experimentally.

Sherlock shivered and he bit back a moan. "I find something good, something right, and it gets taken away. I always lose it." He stretched against Greg languidly. "I don't want to lose this."

"You won't." John's voice was quiet and deadly serious.

Greg smiled and put his mouth to Sherlock's ear. "You see that look? That's the I-am-Captain-John-bloody-Watson-of-the-RAMC look. Nobody fucks with that look, and nobody will dare to come between John Watson and the men he loves." Greg rocked his hips again, once more reaching for Sherlock's cock. "You aren't going to lose anything. I am yours, for as long as you'll have me."

John leant forward and cupped Sherlock's neck before drawing him in for a deep kiss. "And me. To the end of my days, Sherlock. I swear."

Sherlock wrapped his right arm around John's neck and grasped Greg's left hand with his own. He lifted himself from Greg's lap and then sank down again, stifling his cry into John's neck as Greg stroked him.

"That's it. Jesus, yes." Greg leant his forehead into Sherlock's back, the sweat on his brow mingling with the moisture breaking out along Sherlock's spine. "So good, baby." He sighed.

Sherlock made a small sound low in his throat and quickened his pace. Greg felt John's knuckles brush against his lightly, and realised that he had finally given in and taken himself in hand. Greg smiled into Sherlock's flesh. John always prided himself on his self-control, and Greg loved nothing more than watching him completely lose it. Knowing that Sherlock was going to see it up close, to feel it - Greg grew harder still, inciting another low groan from his lover.

"John?" Greg's voice was low and questioning, and his other lover answered without speaking a word, his left hand grasping tightly at Greg's upper arm. Greg could feel his excitement, knew that he was close by the way John's fingers trembled as they clutched at him. Tomorrow, he would have a bruise in the shape of John's hand on his bicep, a colourful reminder of this moment. Their first time together with Sherlock, hopefully the first of many for years to come.

Greg felt the first internal clench of Sherlock's muscles as he started to come, his hips stuttering and movements becoming erratic. He gave him a swift stroke, twisting at the head, and then watched with delight as Sherlock threw back his head and positively yowled through his release. He heard John's whispered, "Oh, _Jesus,_ " before feeling an extra splash of heat across his knuckles.

Everybody stilled then, ragged breathing the only sound and motion in the room. John slowly unwrapped his hand from Greg's arm, fingers creaking in protest. "Jesus. Sorry, love."

"I'm all right, John. Better than all right."

John leant forward to kiss Sherlock's bent head and gently extricated himself, sliding off the bed toward the bathroom. Greg stroked Sherlock's body gently, chest and stomach and then thighs before grasping his hips firmly and lifting him off his lap. Sherlock's body was completely pliant, almost like putty in his hands.

Greg laid him down gently before removing the soiled condom and dropping it in the wastebasket by the bed. He sat and looked at Sherlock, an absolute vision with his sweat-soaked curls clinging to his pink skin, long white stripes of come, his and John's, painting his belly. Greg trailed his fingers along his skin and Sherlock sighed happily.

John came out of the bathroom with a damp flannel and handed it to Greg, who quickly cleaned his own hand before slowly and thoroughly wiping Sherlock down. Almost immediately, Sherlock began to shiver, so once he was done and the cloth had been discarded, Greg settled down next to him and pulled him into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets his...

John pulled up the duvet as he settled in on Sherlock's other side. Sherlock snuggled into Greg and sighed again. "So warm."

John laughed quietly. "I have a feeling that we'll be fighting over him once winter comes."

Sherlock huffed. "Don't be ridiculous, John. I have much less body fat than you do. Therefore, I get colder easier. _Obviously_ , it makes more sense for me to get to snuggle with him during the winter months." As if to emphasise his point, he threw his leg over Greg's and snuffled into his chest. John pushed himself up on his elbow and glowered down at Sherlock, making Greg break out into uproarious laughter.

"I will snuggle with any and all, as long as they behave themselves." Greg put on his best 'stern' voice. "Otherwise, I'll just kip on the sofa and you two can wrestle it out on your own."

Sherlock sighed petulantly. "Fine." He didn't remove his leg though, insinuating it in between Greg's thighs. He stiffened slightly and ran his hand down Greg's body to his groin, fingers tickling along his cock, still half-hard.

Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbow and stared down at Greg in confusion. "Greg - you didn't... Did I - did I do something wrong?"

Greg blinked up at him before running a hand through his curls and along his jaw. He rubbed his thumb along Sherlock's lower lip, his heartbeat increasing as plush lips parted in anticipation. "No, baby. You were amazing." Greg smiled gently. "There's no rule that says everybody has to get off every time. I wanted it to be about you, Sherlock."

"But that's..." Sherlock's eyes searched Greg's face, obviously still confused. "That's not the way it's supposed to happen."

John trailed a hand down Sherlock's back. "There's no 'supposed to' in these situations, my love."

Sherlock arched into John's touch and leant down to kiss Greg tenderly. "It's just not the way I imagined it."

Greg smiled brightly as he returned Sherlock's kiss. He cocked his head, dark eyes sparkling. "And just how often did you imagine this?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and his lips quirked up into a small smile. "Often enough, Detective Inspector." He nosed into Greg's neck before licking and nibbling at his earlobe. Greg drew in breath and let it out with a low growl. " _Mm_." Sherlock writhed against him, wrapping his long fingers around his cock and stroking. Sherlock hummed again as Greg snarled and bucked up into his hand. "There's my man."

Greg abruptly flipped Sherlock onto his back to snog him mercilessly, narrowly avoiding smacking John with his long limbs along the way. John chortled as he sat up, already reaching into the bedside table. When Greg surfaced for air, chest heaving, lips red and swollen, John tossed a condom packet on Sherlock's belly. Greg turned his head and winked.

Sherlock moaned and scrabbled for the packet, ripping it open and deftly rolling it onto Greg's cock. He stroked him again. "Yes yes, oh _God_ yes." He pulled Greg down for another kiss as he spread his thighs. John's hand interceded briefly, applying more lube to Greg's sheathed cock. Greg hastily stuffed a pillow under Sherlock's raised hips before grasping him under the knees and pushing his legs toward his chest.  
   
Greg took a moment to look at Sherlock, who stared back at him with something like a challenge in his eyes. He lined himself up and breached Sherlock's hole slowly, sinking in balls-deep. Greg gave voice to a low groan as Sherlock's back arched and he threw his head back, exposing his throat. Greg kept his torso upright and moved slowly, thrusting deeply, angling his cock so it stroked against Sherlock's prostate gently.  
   
"Jesus, he's beautiful." Greg looked at John kneeling beside him, watching Sherlock with open astonishment. Sherlock bit his lower lip and flushed as John trailed his fingers along his belly and then lower.  
   
"And he's _ours_ , John." Greg dipped his head, capturing John's mouth with his as he continued to fuck Sherlock slowly. "All ours." Sherlock moaned loudly and tried to snap his hips up, but Greg kept him still, hands pressing his legs further into his chest.  
   
John laughed quietly. "Not right now. Right now, he's all yours." He cupped Greg's jaw, drawing him in for a gentle kiss before settling down cross-legged on the bed. "Show him, love. Make sure he knows that he belongs to you."  
   
Greg felt a wave of heat wash down his body, through chest and belly before settling at the root of his cock. Sherlock moaned again and reached up, clutching at Greg's upper arms and head, drawing him down. Greg thrust deep before obliging, releasing Sherlock's knees and planting his hands on the mattress on either side of Sherlock's torso. Sherlock wrapped his long legs around Greg's waist eagerly.  
   
Sherlock kissed him hungrily and drew back, searching Greg's face with his eyes, gone nearly black with desire. He threaded his fingers through Greg's silver hair and sighed. "So kind and caring." An almost chaste kiss on his forehead. "My gentle Yarder." Greg smiled down at him and thrust again, with a bit more force. Sherlock's back arched and he hissed out a quiet " _Yes_ ". He stretched his neck, exposing the bruise left from Greg's initial lovebite. "And yet. Look at what he _did_ to me." Sherlock's eyes widened minutely and he bared his teeth, snarling under his breath. "Do it again."  
   
Greg quirked an eyebrow and snapped his hips, grinning as Sherlock cried out. "What was that?"  
   
"Oh God." Sherlock's lower lip trembled as he pouted. " _Please_ , Greg. I need it." He turned his head to the right, exposing a long line of unblemished pale skin. He moaned quietly. "Please."    
   
Greg went down on his elbows, sliding his hands under and then wrapping them over Sherlock's shoulders. He thrust again, pulling Sherlock's body down as he snapped his hips upward. Sherlock clutched at Greg's arse and moaned unabashedly, keeping his head turned and neck exposed. Greg mouthed at his neck, nipping and nibbling gently between thrusts, grunting as his bollocks slapped against Sherlock's arse.  
   
He increased his pace as Sherlock whispered entreaties into his ear, simple breathy phrases like " _Oh God yes_ ", and " _Please, Greg. Please_ ", punctuated by small cries and wordless moans. Sherlock's words and voice were like fire running down Greg's spine as he let himself go, fucking the lean body underneath his into oblivion. He felt his impending release, a heavy warmth swirling through his belly, and opened his mouth wide to set his teeth firmly into Sherlock's neck, growling into his flesh as he came in a flood.  
   
Greg felt heat across his belly as Sherlock came as well, stimulated by the friction between their bodies and Greg's ruthless pounding. His mouth was open in a voiceless scream, breath caught in his throat. Greg thrust once, twice more, shaking his head a little as he increased the pressure on Sherlock's neck.  
   
Sherlock whined and slowly released Greg, limbs falling to the bed bonelessly. After a few moments, Greg opened his mouth, drawing back and wincing at the marks left behind. "Christ, baby. I'm sorry."  
   
Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. "Don't be. I needed it." He moaned. "I begged for it, Greg." His silver-blue eyes open and he stared up at Greg before tracing the lines of his face with one finger. "You made me beg." A small smile and a gentle kiss. "I love you."  
   
Greg felt a small explosion in his chest and then he was grinning widely, blinking back the moisture from his eyes. "I know you do, you great sod." He pulled himself back on his elbows, but didn't withdraw, choosing instead to lay his head on Sherlock's bony chest. Greg stayed there for a long moment, feeling Sherlock's hand in his hair and John's hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of his back.  
   
John cleared his throat. "I know that you want to stay there forever, love, but you two are going to wind up stuck to each other permanently if you don't clean up."  
   
Greg turned his head and stuck out his tongue. "Don't wanna."  
   
Sherlock giggled. "Oh, yes. That's my man."  
   
Greg turned to face him and winked. "You know it, baby."  
   
John groaned. "You two are disgusting."

Sherlock smirked. "Disgustingly sweet, or just plain disgusting?"

John chuckled and smacked Greg's arse. "Both. Go _shower_ , dammit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Watson makes an appearance...

John stood in the doorway and watched as Sherlock started the shower and pulled Greg in after him. They left the curtain mostly open, Sherlock swaying slightly with half-closed eyes as Greg scrubbed him down. Then he pulled Sherlock's back against his chest, stretching up to wash his dark curls. Sherlock moaned low, almost purring as Greg's fingers worked against his scalp. Thoroughly washed and rinsed, Greg helped to manoeuvre Sherlock out of the shower and into John's patient care.  
   
Greg smiled at John as he quickly ran a towel down Sherlock's body and led the nearly comatose man out of the bathroom and back into bed. He quickly washed and had lathered up his hair by the time John returned, climbing into the shower himself. Greg winked at him and stood under the spray, letting the suds run off his head and body. He ran his hands over his face to clear away some of the extra water and then looked at John, who was studying him closely.  
   
John's posture changed subtly, his shoulders pulling back and chest rising as he ducked his chin slightly. Greg cocked his head and grinned slowly. "Captain?"  
   
An abrupt nod. "On your knees, Gregory."  
   
Greg turned off the shower before going down on his knees in front of John, looking up at him in anticipation. John reached out and ran his thumb along Greg's lips, his slate-blue eyes fierce. Greg's lips opened slightly and John nodded in approval, slipping his thumb into Greg's hot mouth. His tongue fluttered against John's skin and he moaned low in his throat.  
   
"Wider." Greg's mouth dropped open obediently, and John smiled. "Good. Very good." Greg's hands went out to clasp the sides of the tub as John stepped in closer, stroking his cock to fullness with his free hand. He caressed Greg's shoulders gently as he placed the head of his cock at Greg's lips. John's breath hitched in his chest as he pushed forward gently, sliding fully into Greg's mouth.   
   
Greg's eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned thickly. " _Gregory_." His eyes snapped open, fixed on John's face. "That's it. Eyes on me." He pulled back, pushed forward. "You know how I like it." Greg's eyes widened slightly as John thrust again. " _Jesus_. So good." Greg fluttered his tongue along the underside of John's cock as he thrust in, hollowing his cheeks and sucking deeply as he pulled out. John sighed. "So fucking good."

He looked down at Greg, who had his dark eyes fixed on his, moaning low in his throat every time John pushed into him. "You've done so well. I thought you deserved a treat." Greg's eyes fluttered in ecstasy, but he forced them open again before John could object. John stepped back slightly, moving his hips in shallower thrusts, popping just the head of his cock in and out of Greg's mouth. "How are you even real, Gregory?" Greg quirked an eyebrow, concentrating on keeping his breathing even and mouth pliant.  
   
John laughed quietly. "Just a few minutes ago, you practically fucked Sherlock through the mattress. You had him _begging_ , for Christ's sake." He thrust deep again, groaning as the head of his cock hit the back of Greg's throat. "And then I tell you to get on your knees and you just do it, no hesitation." John clasped Greg's head with both hands, running his fingers through his wet hair. "Why are you so fucking perfect?"

Greg raised his eyebrow again, responding non-verbally. _'Do you really want me to answer that, John?'_

John smiled as he rocked into Greg's mouth. "No. I know what you would say. Something like, 'I'm not perfect, I'm just me.' Which is just another tick in the 'perfect' column, by the way." Greg hummed. "Oh, _Jesus_." John's fingers tightened in his hair as he started to move faster. Greg moaned and hummed again, breathing as evenly as he could through his nose.

" _Greg_. Oh, Jesus _fuck_." John's breathing turned ragged as he snapped his hips deep into Greg's mouth, and despite his best efforts, Greg choked a little. With that strangled sound, and the spasming of Greg's throat around the head of his cock, John pulled out with a sharp cry and came over Greg's chin and chest.

Greg coughed slightly and looked up at John reproachfully. He wiped his chin and stuck his fingers in his mouth.

" _Jesus_ , love." John huffed out a breath and sucked in another. "I - I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry. I know you prefer - well."

"That's quite all right, John." Sherlock was leaning in the doorway, his blue dressing gown belted loosely around his waist. "Greg knows why you did it. Despite his rather eloquent hangdog expression, I don't think he really minds _too_ much."

Greg threw Sherlock a sideways glance and smirked slightly. John clasped Greg's chin in his hand and tilted his face to his. "Oh, really?" Greg nodded. "And just what insights do you have to offer for my odd behaviour, Gregory?"

"Marking your territory." Greg's voice was raspy and he smirked again. John's mouth opened as if to protest immediately, but then closed, an odd expression floating across his face as he considered.

Sherlock joined them, sitting down on the closed toilet as Greg stood and turned on the shower once more. "In many ways, the human male can be remarkably primitive. You just watched your mate in sexual congress with another partner. It's only natural that you should attempt to reassert your dominance."

Greg chuckled throatily as he soaped up his chest and then rinsed. John blinked at Sherlock. "My - my what?"

Sherlock looked back at him placidly. "Do you prefer partner, then?" He looked to Greg, who was grinning broadly. "How do you refer to each other?"

"Erm - 'love', mostly. Certainly not 'mate'."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side as Greg switched places with John, dunking him under the water before taking the soap and flannel to his skin. "And when you're discussing your relationship with others?"

John and Greg exchanged glances. "We were...well, keeping it quiet for the most part."

Sherlock frowned. "Because of me. You didn't want me to know."

Greg cleared his throat. "We were pretty sure that you would object."

Sherlock considered this as he watched Greg wash John's hair. "Hm. If this had happened any earlier, I may have." He smiled slightly as Greg pushed John under the spray and the smaller man sputtered in indignation. "I am pleased that things have turned out the way they have."

"Pleased?" Greg chuckled as he reached behind John to turn off the water.

Sherlock handed over a clean towel. "Would you prefer I said ecstatically happy? Ridiculously thrilled?"

Greg vigorously rubbed at John's head before swiping the towel down his body. "If that's the way you're feeling, then yeah. Don't hold back, Sherlock. Not here. You're safe with us."

John reached out to run his fingers through Sherlock's still-damp curls. "You can tell us anything."

Sherlock swallowed. "I'll remember that."

"Of course you will. Now, what happened? You were practically passed out before I got in the shower."

Sherlock shrugged. "Without either one of you there, I became - "

"Bored?" Sherlock blinked as Greg and John spoke as one.

"Not exactly." His fingers twisted together and he jiggled his legs. "More like - restless."

John eyed his bouncing legs with trepidation before groaning quietly. "Ah, _Jesus_. Greg - he's a Tigger too..."

Greg laughed as Sherlock's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline. "John claims that I get 'bouncy' after sex. Like Tigger."

"I don't recall any Hundred Acre Wood stories in which Tigger has intercourse."

Greg grinned and John choked on his laughter. "I'm surprised that you haven't deleted childhood stories, Sherlock. Most of them are utter nonsense."

"Perhaps. But beautiful nonsense. Art isn't as easy for me to delete as other unnecessary information."

"Winnie the Pooh is art?"

Sherlock turned his clear gaze to John. "Absolutely."

Greg finished towelling off and stepped out of the tub. "I suppose we could find _something_ to do with our excess energy..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes even as the corners of his mouth turned up. "I'm already limping, Greg. Do you want me completely incapacitated?"

Greg grinned wickedly. "Could be fun."

Sherlock cocked his head. "That isn't what I meant." He eyed Greg, raking his gaze over his body. "Later. Perhaps."

"I'll let you do me first."

John laughed at the expression of pure greed that flitted across Sherlock's face.

"Well. I - hm." Sherlock hummed. "I will not deny that I am intrigued by the idea. But for now, I believe that you've thoroughly shagged the hell out of me, Greg."

Greg chuckled as he pulled Sherlock up and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Sorry, baby. I know I can be a bit demanding." He reached out, cradling John's face in one hand. "But you're both so gorgeous, I just can't help myself." He laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder and smiled as John leaned into him.

"Greg..." Sherlock's voice was quiet, tentative.

Greg pulled back, suddenly aware of the tension in the body that he was clinging to. "Sherlock. _No_ , that's not what I meant. I'll never truly demand anything of you in that way. If you don't feel like it, or just don't want to, you tell me. Is that understood?"

Sherlock nodded as his body relaxed minutely. "It had not escaped my notice that any time I said 'stop', both of you would immediately do so."

John ran his hand down Sherlock's back. "We both take that sort of thing very seriously, Sherlock. If everybody isn't fully engaged, it can make for a rather lacklustre fuck."

Sherlock looked down at him in amusement. "Well now. We wouldn't want that."

"It's all quality fucks when you're with us, baby." Greg chuckled at John's smirk. "So what _would_ you like to do?"

Sherlock's arm tightened around Greg briefly. "Let's go pack. I want you to move in immediately."

Greg blinked at him. "Wow. Okay."

"Love, we should probably talk with Mrs. Hudson first."

"You can do that while Greg and I retrieve his things."

"Sherlock." Greg stared at him, eyes narrowed. Sherlock blinked at him uncertainly and then looked down at John, whose mouth was set in a thin line.

" _Oh_. John, I'm sorry. I did not mean to exclude you. I just thought that it would be more expedient this way." Sherlock kissed the top of his head. "Besides, you have a better rapport with our dear landlady. You're so charming, after all."

John laughed. "Don't be absurd, Sherlock. You're like a son to her."

"Thus by extension, so are you. She does prefer your tea over mine. Infinitely."

"I think it helps that when I'm bringing her tea, it's just because. With you, it's always some half-arsed apology for nearly burning the flat down." Greg chortled at Sherlock's somewhat abashed expression. "Not to mention, when you _do_ actually make it, you tend to forget about it, so it's over-brewed and lukewarm at best."

Sherlock threw his head back and huffed. "Fine! I'm crap at making tea, I get it. But that's why I have you around."

John winked up at him. "Is that the only reason?" Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Fine. You two go off on your own, and try not to get into any trouble along the way." He eyed them both sternly. "No cavorting."

"Cavorting, John? _Really_?" John just laughed as he pulled Sherlock down for a kiss and then slipped past Greg, smacking his arse on the way out of the bathroom. They followed, everyone gathering their shed clothing and dressing in silence.

Greg and John both sat on the bed and watched as Sherlock carefully buttoned his shirt and adjusted his cuffs. John rested his head on Greg's shoulder and sighed, eyeing the long line of Sherlock's back.

Greg hummed in agreement. "Those trousers should be illegal. The way they curve around his arse - _damn_."

John chuckled. "How is it even possible that he's ten times sexier while fully clothed?" He looked down at his rumpled jumper. "It's so not fair."

Sherlock smirked at them in the wardrobe mirror. "Are you both _quite_ finished ogling me?"

Greg sighed deeply as Sherlock shrugged into his suit jacket. "Oh, I suppose so."

John leant in for a kiss. "The sooner you go, the sooner you can return."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the cliché and pulled Greg off the bed and toward the sitting room. "Come on." He helped Greg pull on his mack before donning his Belstaff and wrapping his scarf around his neck, carefully covering the marks Greg had left behind.

Greg peeked into the kitchen as John flipped on the kettle. "We'll bring something back, yeah?"

John groaned. "God, yes. Indian. I could absolutely _murder_ a curry." Greg huffed out a laugh and pulled him in for a kiss.

" _Ergh_. Domesticity."

Greg turned slightly and looked at Sherlock over John's head. "Yes. This is what you're signing up for, Sherlock. Is that a problem? If so, I can go back to mine on my own."

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock before he strode over to envelop both Greg and John in his arms. " _No_. No, Greg. I need you here." He took in a great lungful of air. "I will - adapt - to domestic, erm - bliss."

John laughed brightly before releasing his lovers. "No doilies on the furniture, Sherlock. I promise. Now be on your way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet little cab ride...

Sherlock clattered down the stairs, pulling Greg along behind him. As soon as they hit the first-floor landing, they heard a sharp call.

"Boys! What on earth - " Mrs. Hudson stopped in her doorway, eyes drawn immediately to their clasped hands. She swiftly turned to Greg in outrage. " _Gregory Lestrade_. Are you stepping out on John?"

"No! No, Mrs. Hudson, not - not exactly." Greg blushed. "It's a bit, ah - complicated."

Sherlock stepped closer. "You knew?"

"Well, they never announced it or anything. Or invited me up for tea." She threw a hard gaze at Greg. "It's just that these walls - you know how thin they are, dear. And the pipes. Good Lord. Showers all night and day, it seemed."

Greg hung his head in embarrassment as Sherlock chuckled quietly. Then Greg felt John's strong fingers twining into his, and lifted his head to see Mrs. Hudson staring at the three of them in delight.

Sherlock 'tsk'ed impatiently. "Yes, I'm sure that Mrs. Turner will be remarkably jealous. Can we _go_ now?"

John kissed Greg's knuckles before releasing him. "Mrs. Hudson - Viv. Would you like to have some tea with me? It seems that there are things that we should perhaps talk about." Both John and Greg grinned at the speed with which she shut her door and started up the stairs to 221B.

John gave a little wave as he headed up behind her, and Sherlock tugged Greg out the door into the afternoon sunshine. They both squinted a bit against the glare, Sherlock looking up and down the street.

"Where's your car?"

"At my flat. We came straight from the club last night, Sherlock. Took a cab."

Without another word, Sherlock strode to the kerb and lifted his arm. A cab pulled up immediately and he bundled Greg into the back and gave the cabbie his address.

There was silence for a while, with Sherlock staring out the window, apparently lost in whatever fathomless depths existed in his mind. Greg slid his hand along Sherlock's thigh, insinuating it under the hand resting on his knee. Almost unconsciously, Sherlock raised Greg's hand to his lips and kissed it absently.

"The club?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Where we met."

"Yup."

"I didn't know you still frequented it."

"Not like every weekend or anything. Just when I needed to blow off some steam."

Sherlock smirked. "Third parties."

Greg smiled in return. "Yeah." He blew out a quick breath. "Glad we didn't bring anyone back with us last night."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That would _not_ have gone well. So why did you come back to Baker Street?"

"We thought you were still away. And we didn't hook up with anyone, so..."

"So why not come back to a flat with a shower large enough for two?"

Greg laughed quietly. "Ever the detective."

"Wait." Sherlock's fingers tightened. "Have you ever brought anyone back to 221B?"

"Umm..." Greg cleared his throat quietly. "Only once."

"You obviously trusted this person. So he was a somewhat regular partner."

"Edward. Yeah. We - we have, well, _had_ \- a certain chemistry."

Sherlock looked out the window again. "You still have feelings for him."

Greg scooted a bit closer on the bench seat. "There's a fondness, yes. But our relationship ended a long time ago, Sherlock. From now on, it's you and me and John." He squeezed Sherlock's gloved fingers. "Yeah?"

Sherlock squeezed back and smiled slightly. "Edward. Sounds familiar."

"I met him that same night. He told me that you had, um - played together with Scott a couple times."

"Hm." Sherlock's brow furrowed. "A lot of my memories of those days are rather muddled." His gaze went a little distant. "Brown hair. Tall. Taller than me. Good dancer. Looks a bit like that actor - the one from that ridiculous Doctor When show."

"Who, not When." Greg grinned. "That's him."

"He's the one that was waiting for you while you were looking after me. He's the one you went home with that night." Sherlock turned his head and searched Greg's face with his luminescent eyes. "Your first." Greg nodded. Sherlock shifted suddenly, swinging one long leg over and straddling Greg's lap.

"Um." Greg's eyes caught those of the cabbie's in the rearview mirror and was relieved to see only amusement there. "Sherlock, baby - what?"

Sherlock traced Greg's eyebrows with his thumbs and then ran his fingers along his jawline. "You never forget your first."

"Not usually, no. Hence the fondness I still have for him."

"And the aforementioned 'chemistry', of course." Greg hummed vaguely as Sherlock tipped his head back and laid his lips on his throat. "Would you say that we _also_ have a certain chemistry?" His voice was deep and rich in Greg's ear, causing delicious ripples up his spine.

"Oh God, _yes_."

Sherlock mouthed lightly at Greg's bottom lip, eventually catching it between his teeth. Greg moaned low as Sherlock's tongue probed at his mouth, no doubt cataloguing Greg's myriad reactions. Greg's entire awareness shrank down to that one point of contact, Sherlock's lips and tongue and teeth on his.

He gasped quietly as Sherlock disengaged, moving his lips to his ear. "Delete him, Greg."

Greg found himself nodding before Sherlock's words even penetrated the haze. A slow smile curled the edges of his lips. "You're jealous!" Sherlock pulled back, eyeing Greg uncertainly. "I would think that such a primitive emotion would be beneath you." He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair before leaning up for a quick kiss. "Besides, us mere mortals can't delete information the way you can."

"You could if you really wanted to." Greg just looked at him, a tinge of sadness in his dark eyes. "But you don't want to."  
   
"No, I don't. He helped me through a difficult time in my life, Sherlock. I can't just forget about that." Greg pulled Sherlock's head onto his shoulder. "But you don't have to worry. However fondly I think of him, I don't love him. I'm not sure I ever did, to be honest. You and John are the only men in my life, I swear to you."  
   
Sherlock clung to him for long moments, watching Greg's chest rise and fall with his breath. "You know, the cab stopped some time ago."  
   
"Yup. I think the cabbie knew that we were having a moment, and he was kind enough to let us have it."  
   
"Or he's a voyeur and was hoping for more." Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, and the cabbie caught his eye in the rearview mirror with a wink. Sherlock scowled.  
   
"Well, are we going to give him a show, or are we going to get my things and get back to John?" Greg patted Sherlock lightly on the bum as he clambered off of his lap and out of the cab.  
   
Sherlock eyed the industrial surroundings disdainfully as Greg paid the cabbie, giving him a couple of extra quid and a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks, mate."  
   
"Oh, anytime. Love to meet this John of yours..."  
   
Greg grinned and laughed easily. "Oh, you undoubtedly would." He leant in slightly. "Ex-soldier." Greg giggled a bit as the cabbie's green eyes lit up with delight. Remarkable how easy it was to flirt when you didn't have anything invested in it. Both he and the stranger knew that nothing was going to come of this - they'd probably never set eyes on each other again. But they didn't let that stop them from reaching out - just a little - and making that connection. Greg giggled again. "Most _glorious_ ar -"  
   
" _Greg!,_ " Sherlock hissed angrily behind him.  
   
"Oops." Greg shared a conspiratorial wink with the cabbie and then turned to capture Sherlock's arm to drag him away before he could deliver any blistering deductions. "Okay, baby. It's okay. The nasty man has gone away now." Sherlock huffed as he smoothed his hands down the front of his coat. "C'mon. Up to the very top." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little packing...

Sherlock bounded up the stairs ahead of him, and Greg was not at all surprised to find the door wide open when he finally caught up with him.   
   
"One of these days, I'm going to find that lockpick kit of yours and I'm going to make it disappear."  
   
Sherlock smirked and threw himself into a whirlwind of activity, striding through the small rooms, opening cupboards and leaving drawers askew as he investigated. He came to a halt in the sitting room, glancing out the window to the street below.  
   
"This is really quite dreadful, Greg. How long have you been living here?"  
   
"About a year or so. Haven't really been living here, I guess. More just a place to sleep and eat. The only actual living has been in the past six months."  
   
Sherlock turned to him. "When you started seeing John."  
   
Greg shrugged. "Yeah." He passed through to the kitchen, started pulling items out of the open cabinets and placing them on the worktop. Mostly packet meals, easy to prepare rice and pasta dishes. He smiled to himself faintly. Bachelor fare.  
   
Sherlock followed him into the kitchen and stood watching, eyebrow raised.  
   
"I figure we can bring this stuff back, as I don't anticipate leaving the flat for the next couple of days at least."  
   
"Oh?"  
   
"Yeah. I'm not done with you, Sherlock."   
   
"Oh." Sherlock glanced down at the floor and then back up at Greg's face, a bit of an apprehensive glow in his eyes. "Why were you flirting with that cabbie?"  
   
"It was just a bit of fun. We both knew it wasn't going anywhere."  
   
"Then why bother?"  
   
"I just said - for fun. Not everyone views people the same way you do. You looked at the cabbie and probably deduced all kinds of unsavoury or completely dull things. I looked at him and thought that he had nice eyes. Just a little bit of human contact, sweetheart. That's all."  
   
"You didn't do it to make me jealous?"  
   
Greg moved closer and reached out to touch Sherlock's face. "No. That was just a pleasant side effect." He drew Sherlock in and kissed him gently. "I like that you want me for yourself. It's nice to see you demonstrate how you feel."  
   
Sherlock suddenly flipped Greg around and pushed him up against the wall. He grabbed his wrists and pinned them down before bringing his lips to Greg's desperately. "I want to fuck you, Greg. I want you make you mine completely."  
   
" _Mm_. All right."  
   
Sherlock drew back and blinked at him. "Just - all right? I thought that you might object."  
   
"Why? Because of some alpha male bullshit? Tops and bottoms, all that?"  
   
"Well, yes."  
   
"Nope. I like giving and receiving. I'll let you do anything you want to do. Nearly."  
   
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "Nearly?"

"I do have some limits. For instance, I'm not going to let you piss on me."

"People - actually -  _do_ that?"

Greg could only laugh at his expression, some odd combination of intrigue and revulsion. "You do have a lot to learn, don't you? People do all sorts of things to chase that sexual high, Sherlock."

"Hm." Sherlock pushed Greg up against the wall again, grinding into him hard as he leaned down to nibble on his neck.

Greg groaned. "Baby, stop."

Sherlock pulled back and frowned. "You said I could."

"Yes, but not here. Not without John. You heard him."

"No cavorting."

"Exactly. We can't leave him out. We've been pretty damn selfish already."

Sherlock released him and stepped back. "I didn't mean to. It's just, you and me, and  - eight years. Eight fucking _years_ , Greg. So much time to make up for..."

"I know, baby. And John knows too. He's willing to give us as much time as we need, but we can't neglect him." Greg caressed Sherlock's face. "Without John, I don't think we would have happened. Ever. So we need to thank him, don't you think?"

"How?"

"We get back to Baker Street as soon as possible. With his wretched curry, of course. And then you're gonna suck him, and I'm gonna fuck him. We're gonna make _him_ the centre of attention, yeah?"  
   
Greg smirked at the bright points of colour that flooded Sherlock's pale cheeks. "Ah." He wordlessly gathered some bags, and started to stuff the packet meals into them at random.   
   
Greg left him to it and wandered into the bedroom, kneeling by the bed to pull out his suitcase and a small duffle from underneath. Greg threw open the suitcase and started pulling things out of the wardrobe, just tossing them in willy-nilly.  
   
Greg sighed as most of his clothing slipped right into the suitcase, with room to spare. He'd never been a material man, but seeing it all tucked away like this seemed to strike at something deep within. He had a steady job, a roof over his head; but he still felt transient, somehow. Like nothing in his life was solid, secure. He listened to Sherlock rummaging about and smiled to himself. Looked like all of that was about to change, wasn't it? And so quickly - how had this happened?  
   
He smirked slightly as he came across his motorbike leathers at the back of the wardrobe. Greg tossed them on the bed and considered - probably didn't need to take them now, but he distinctly remembered John's favourable reaction from a few months back. Ah well. Maybe later.  
   
Greg grabbed the duffle and headed into his closet of a bathroom, pulling his supplies out of the shower and off of the counter, stuffing them into the bag. He grabbed his ceramic frog off the counter and carried it into the bedroom to find something to wrap it up with.  
   
"Greg, that thing is hideous."  
   
He frowned and looked down at it. Pale green with golden spots on its back, huge doe-like eyes reminiscent of the 70s. It was hideous, true, but he had been carrying this thing around with him for God only knows how long. It had been the one constant in his life for years, and he'd be damned if he was going to give it up now.  
   
"This is my skull, Sherlock. You're not taking it away from me."  
   
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and frowned. "I won't be held responsible if something horrible happens to it."  
   
Greg squinted at him suspiciously before carefully wrapping it up with a couple of t-shirts before stuffing it into the duffle. Sherlock scanned the room quickly, noting with pleasure that the suitcase was already full. Then his gaze shifted to the bed and he froze.  
   
" _Greg_. What - "  
   
Greg looked up and then followed Sherlock's fascinated gaze. He laughed. "Leathers, Sherlock. For protection when I ride."  
   
Sherlock's voice was quiet. "I didn't know you had a - hm."  
   
"Well, I don't now... Used to." Greg laughed again. "You know, John had a similar reaction when he first saw them. I was going to leave them to pack later, but..."

Without another word, Sherlock started rearranging the clothing already packed away, making room for the leather trousers and jacket. He glanced up at Greg nonchalantly. "There's adequate space for the boots as well." He cleared his throat. "If you have boots, that is."

Greg breathed deep through his nose to fight back his laughter. "Hall cupboard, baby." Sherlock swiftly vanished, only to return a few moments later laden with footwear and gloves. Greg zipped up his duffle and watched Sherlock close up his suitcase. "Right, that should do. Don't forget the groceries on the way out."

"What about the rest?"

"It's still on lease for the next month. I can come by after my shifts and grab a box or two." Greg sighed. "Won't take long, I really don't have a lot of shit. Nearly a whole year, reduced to two bags and a few boxes."

Sherlock ducked around the bed and gathered Greg up in his arms. "That changes today. You're coming home, Greg."

Greg smiled into Sherlock's neck. "Home. Sounds nice."

Sherlock smoothed his hand down Greg's back, coming to rest on his arse. He squeezed gently. "Yes. And I'm anxious to get you back there."

Greg shivered and pulled away, gathering his bags. Without another word, he dragged them out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Sherlock locked up and followed Greg out to the car, tossing the groceries into the back along with Greg's luggage. They made quick time back to Baker Street, pausing only to pick up dinner along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Sherlock thank John for being so understanding...

Greg shook his head slightly as he watched Sherlock wrestle his suitcase up the stairs to 221B. He himself only had the bags of food, both his packet meals and the takeaway. He closed the front door behind him as he considered. Sherlock genuinely wanted him here, and for good, apparently.

He caught a glimpse of Mrs. Hudson peeking around the stairs as he renewed his grip on the bags. "Mrs. Hudson? All right there?"

She came around the corner and went straight up to him, grasping his shoulders in her frail hands. "Better than all right, Gregory. I am so happy for you all. About time Sherlock realised what was right under his nose all along." She shook her head. "Thinks he's so clever."

At that moment, the clever consulting detective in question stuck his head out of the sitting room door and called out imperiously. "Greg! For God's _sake_ \- did you get lost?"

Greg rolled his eyes, smiling as Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth and giggled delicately. "No, you great git. I was just conversing with our lovely landlady for a moment." He grinned as she blushed faintly.

Silence, and then Sherlock came clattering down the stairs, already divested of coat and suit jacket. "Ah." He looked her over briefly before moving behind Greg and taking his upper arms, steering him toward the stairs. "Lovely evening, isn't it, Mrs. Hudson. Must be getting along now, much to do, moving in, you know, dinner's getting cold as well." Greg sputtered as he was moved forcibly up the stairs, looking down at Mrs. Hudson with apologies in his eyes. She put a hand to her cheek and shook her head, turning back towards her flat as Sherlock continued to ramble and push. "Yes, must be getting on, perhaps we'll stop by for a chat later, hm?"

Greg snorted as he went in through the kitchen door, depositing his haul on the table. "I don't know how she stands you."  
   
"Yes, well... I don't know how anybody stands me, and yet, here we all are."  
   
Greg turned to Sherlock as he shucked out of his mack, tossing it on a nearby chair. "I guess I can stand you because you are so unutterably gorgeous." He pulled him down for a deep kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck. Greg pulled back slightly and took in the flush rising in Sherlock's cheeks. "And maybe because you're a pretty good kisser."  
   
"Greg..." Sherlock's voice was a bare whisper, and he pulled Greg in fiercely, moulding their bodies together before capturing his mouth once more. Greg's mind just went - elsewhere - for a little while, all thoughts replaced with one, and that one was Sherlock. His smell, his heat, his taste, his breath, the essence that was Sherlock, filtering in through his mouth and nose and ears.  
   
There was a quiet moan from somewhere in the distance, and the two men disengaged reluctantly, looking to the hallway door. John was leaning up against the jamb, clad in low-slung pyjama bottoms and a light bathrobe, belted loosely at his waist. They could both see clearly that he wasn't wearing a shirt, and Greg and Sherlock glanced at each other with wicked little smirks.  
   
"You two, I swear to God. You're _so_ beautiful."  
   
They each held out a hand to him, and his body jerked forward, almost seemingly against his will. They pulled him into an embrace, Sherlock turning John gently so they were facing each other, tipping his chin up, bending down to snog him thoroughly. John made a little desperate noise in the back of his throat before leaning his weight against Sherlock, driving him up against the wall.  
   
Greg chuckled as he wrestled with John's dressing gown, struggling to get it off. "Ease up a bit, baby, let me get this thing off him." Sherlock growled incoherently and pulled John in tighter. Greg huffed in exasperation. "Well, do you want him starkers or not?"

John shook his head, as if to clear it. "Wait, what?"

Sherlock cupped John's face. "Greg pointed out that we had been rather neglectful of you. We wish to remedy that."

"I understand that you two need time."

"We have all the time in the world, John. Now stop being so damn gallant and _strip_."

"Now? But - but, dinner..."

Both Greg and Sherlock had to chuckle, knowing how important regular meals were to John. His body was half-turned, looking over Greg's shoulder at the bags on the table longingly. Greg glanced back himself and noticed a shoebox on the table that most definitely had not been there earlier. John caught his eye and winked.

"Oh, you little _devil_." Greg firmly turned him around so he was facing Sherlock again, and this time he was successful in divesting him of the robe. "Nope, we really must insist. After all, Sherlock wants to taste you, and I definitely recommend a pre-curried John over post-curried."

"What are you on about?" John's body shivered deliciously as Greg's fingers traced the muscles in his back and Sherlock's hands wrapped around his ribs.

Greg ignored him. "You see, Sherlock, our little doctor here runs through his food pretty quickly. Fast metabolism, like a wee bunny rabbit." He deftly avoided a sharp elbow being swung in his direction. "As soon as a half-hour after he consumes that blasted curry, it will be oozing through his pores and affecting his otherwise tasty bits in _very_ negative ways. I only had to make that mistake once."

"What mistake was that?"

"Going down on you after a curry dinner. Your spunk tasted like _foot_ , John. And you know I'm not into feet."

Sherlock chuckled into John's neck as he frowned. "Greg. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Greg shrugged. "You love curry. I wasn't going to take that away from you. It's not like you eat it all the time. I just - adapted. After 24 hours and a couple of hand jobs, you'd be back to normal, and I could lick you up as much as I wanted."

Sherlock's eyes danced with amusement as John moaned quietly. "Sounds like it took quite rigorous testing to reach that conclusion, Detective Inspector."

"Oh, quite. You're welcome to test for yourself, of course. I know you don't really trust other people's conclusions."

"I trust yours."

Both John and Greg had to pull back and look at Sherlock in surprise. Greg softened his gaze first. "We'll turn you into a romantic sop yet."

Sherlock merely quirked an eyebrow. "I didn't say it to be romantic. Don't be absurd. I was simply stating truth. I trust both of you. With everything." He turned his quicksilver eyes back to John. "However, that doesn't mean I won't be doing some testing of my own. I do trust your conclusions, Greg. We'll just call it - independent verification, shall we?"

"I can accept that." Greg slipped his hand past the waistband of John's pyjama bottoms and cupped his bare arse. "Mm. No pants. Sherlock, I do believe that John was anticipating something like this. In fact - " Greg's hand slid a little lower and between - "Oh, yes. I _know_ he was." He tapped against the edge of the silicone plug that was clenched in John's arse. "Is this the one that...?" Greg chuckled as his fingers found the little button and pushed.

There was a low hum and John moaned quietly. Sherlock slid down his body to his knees and clasped his waist before turning him gently. "What is that? I want to see." Greg smirked down at John, who smiled crookedly in reply before sliding his pyjama bottoms off his hips, letting them drop to the floor. Then he bent over, essentially shoving his arse right up in Sherlock's face. Greg guffawed with delight as Sherlock's eyes widened. " _Ooh_."

Greg ran his hand along John's exposed spine as he watched Sherlock investigate. The long white fingers traced around the base of the plug before grasping it and pulling it out slowly. This particular model had five bulbs of graduated sizes, small to large. Sherlock pulled it all the way out and then pushed it back in, just as slowly, utterly fixated as John's arse swallowed it all up.

John's muffled moans seemed to spur Sherlock on, as he pulled it back out and then plunged it back in with one swift motion. John rolled his hips and Greg grinned. "Hey, baby. This one has three settings." Greg pushed the little button again, his grin widening. Sherlock looked up at him, startled, as the hum increased exponentially. Then he pushed the button himself, pressing his fingers against the base and pushing it deeper into John. The subject of his experiment groaned lustily and started rocking his hips in a steady rhythm.

Greg shook his head and pushed the button one more time, stilling the vibrations completely. John gasped in disappointment. "If you want to taste him, Sherlock, you need to ease up on the vibe. He'll spill all over the floor before too long. And that would be a terrible waste, don't you think?"

Sherlock's quicksilver eyes twinkled. "An absolute _tragedy_ , Detective Inspector."

"John, stand up and get over here. I want to see his mouth on you."

John stood and turned, gasping as Sherlock eagerly clutched at his hips and pulled him in closer with a hard jerk. "You're such a pushy bastard, Greg."

"Oh, like you don't want to see it. Or feel it." Greg chuckled quietly as John's head rolled back on his shoulders, Sherlock having pressed his face into John's belly. Sherlock tongued around and in his bellybutton, slowly trailing his tongue lower and lower still, licking around the base of John's cock before taking the length in his mouth.

John moaned quietly and Greg stepped in closer, taking the back of his head in his hand and tilting it forward. "Open your eyes and look at him, John. Look at those perfect lips, wrapped around your cock. Jesus, he's beautiful."

Sherlock hummed as he looked up at John, whose slate-blue eyes were fixed on his face. Greg slid his hand down, between John's arse-cheeks. He pressed the button on the plug and caressed John's firm flesh. John's body shuddered and he let out a gasping moan.

Sherlock let him slip from his mouth briefly. "I can feel it on my tongue..." His voice was hushed, quietly astonished. He sucked John back into his mouth and raised a hand to tug and pull at his bollocks.

Greg chuckled and pressed the button again, grasping the base of the plug and pulling it halfway out and pressing it back in, deeper than before. Both John and Sherlock moaned. "This is nothing, baby. Just wait until he's _fucking_ you while wearing one of these beauties. You can feel it all the way inside. This one isn't even my favourite..."

John gasped as Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and started sucking in earnest. "Wh - which one is your - oh _God_ \- favourite, Greg?"

"That silly purple one." Greg pressed the button again, leaving it on its highest setting as he steadily pumped it in and out of John. He cried out and clutched at Sherlock's shoulders for support. "It's a bit fatter, so it fills you up nicely, and a bit shorter, so it doesn't quite reach your prostate. Some of the other ones make you come too quickly, love. Jesus, I love the way it feels when you're pounding into me, that funny little buzzing. And it has that remote, too, so I can turn it up just as high as I need. I love to torment you as you fuck me, John."

"Oh God." John's hips were rocking steadily, feet braced as Greg plunged the toy in and out and Sherlock sucked.

"When you fuck Sherlock for the first time, are you going to accessorise, John? Are you going to hand me the remote and let me torment you both? How about you, baby? Would you like that - to feel John's cock buzz inside you?"

Sherlock moaned incoherently and reached behind John's bollocks, pressing down firmly. John stiffened suddenly and Greg stopped thrusting with the toy, instead pressing it in as deep as he could. Greg watched with fascination as John cursed and came, pulsing into Sherlock's mouth.

John's body relaxed and he took in great heaving breaths. "Greg, _please_."

"Oh. Sorry, love." Greg turned off the toy, but left it where it was. He reached out to run his fingers through Sherlock's curls. John collapsed onto his knees and took Sherlock's face in his hands, kissing him deeply. Sherlock moaned and straightened up, and Greg could see that he had unzipped himself at some point, and taken himself in hand. 

John gently batted his hand away. "Let me." Sherlock obediently raised himself up on his knees, so John could get his trousers and pants out of the way properly. He reached out and wrapped an arm around Greg's leg for support, leaning his head into his hip. John closed his hand around Sherlock's cock and started stroking, long and sure.

Sherlock let out a shuddering breath and moaned quietly. "I don't understand."

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"Why does it feel so much better?" Both John and Greg were silent. "It's just a hand. Why do your hands feel better than mine? I know what I need to do to get off, the mechanics should be the same. So why the difference?"

Greg stroked his head as John leaned in for a kiss. "Because it's not just a hand, baby. It's _John_. It's his breath on your neck, the pulse of his fingers on the pulse of your prick. His body heat pressed up against you. The look in his eyes when he sees you. Sure, he wants to get you off, but that's not the main goal. He wants to make you feel good, because he _loves_ you." Greg smiled gently. "We all have times when we want or need 'quick and efficient', but that isn't the way partners operate, baby."

"Sentiment."

"Oh yes. And isn't it so much better?"

Sherlock broke eye contact with John briefly to look up at Greg. His eyes were shining with unshed emotion. "God, _yes_." Greg grinned down at him, running his hand through his curls to the back of his neck. John shuffled in closer, bringing his free hand up to Sherlock's face to bring him back into a kiss. Greg rested his other hand on John's naked back, running his fingers back and forth aimlessly. Sherlock's grip on his leg tightened as his hips started to jerk rhythmically, thrusting into John's hand steadily.

Greg watched silently, his mind a little disjointed by the vision at his feet. He chuckled to himself as he realised that it looked a bit like the cover of one of Nora's dreadful romance novels, the hunky hero standing tall as the helpless maiden clutched at his leg. _'If only I had the flowing locks and enormous pecs to go along with that image,'_ he found himself thinking.

He was brought out of his reverie as Sherlock's soft grunts reached his ears. Greg hummed as Sherlock's thrusting hips suddenly stilled and he groaned aloud. He couldn't see him spurting, as the two men at his feet were pressed together almost as one, but he knew he was. Sherlock slowly sank down onto his heels, and pressed his face into Greg's thigh, not releasing his hold. Greg looked down at the mess on John's hand and smiled.

"John."

John looked up, face flushed and pupils blown wide. Without a word, he raised his hand above his head and let Greg take hold. Greg ran his nose along John's wrist and then licked him clean with long, slow pulls of his tongue.

Sherlock moaned again. "Greg, why?"

Greg grinned and shrugged. "I _like_ it, that's why. It tastes like - victory."

John laughed and Sherlock smirked. "But it's not your victory, love. It's mine."

"Doesn't matter. It tastes like Sherlock and you and it's the most fantastic thing in the whole world."

John and Sherlock looked at each other and then both turned to Greg, hands reaching up to strip him down efficiently. Sherlock went for the buttons on his shirt, and John for his belt and zip. Greg laughed and tried to help, but there were just too many hands involved, so he just stood there and took it. He shrugged off his shirt once the last button was undone, and stepped out of his jeans and pants as John tugged them down.

"And now I don't understand."

John ran his hand up and along the back of Greg's leg. "Love?"

"Why the both of you are looking at me like that. Like you've been lost in a desert for weeks and I'm the oasis that you're both hallucinating."

"I can't speak for John, of course. But for me, your analogy is rather apt. A bit forced perhaps, but apt nonetheless. Only it wasn't weeks. It was eight years. I'll never tire of looking at you." Sherlock trailed his fingers down Greg's body. "Or touching you. You _are_ my oasis, Greg."

"And I've told you, numerous times. Never doubt what you do to me. You send me _spare_ , you daft bugger." John smiled up at him. "I could say that it's your deep dark eyes, your shiny silver hair. That damned grin that makes me want to snog the breath right out of you... But the truth is, I don't know why. I just know that I look at you, and my heart stops ever so briefly. If you're a hallucination, then I don't ever want to come to my senses."

Greg blinked down at the both of them. "Oh."

John smiled crookedly and winked at Sherlock. "Enough talking, don't you think?" Sherlock just nodded and leaned in to nibble at Greg's thigh. John went straight for his bollocks, nosing under them and licking along Greg's perineum before sucking one into his mouth. Sherlock licked along Greg's shaft and pressed a kiss to the head of his cock.

Greg's head dropped back and his knees trembled. "Oh sweet Mary, Mother of _God_. Saints preserve, you two are going to _kill_ me." Both men hummed around whatever flesh happened to be in their mouths, and Greg's body jolted. "Ah, Jesus _fuck_." He patted both their heads and leaned down slightly. "Seriously, lads, you better let me lie down or I may just collapse on you."

Sherlock grumbled slightly, but pulled off as John laughed brightly. Greg quickly went down on his knees and kissed the both of them before settling back on the kitchen floor. Bit hard on the back perhaps, but he thought it just might be worth it in the end. Both men wasted no time in getting themselves situated, pulling Greg's legs apart and pushing his knees up so they could both fit. They licked and nibbled and sucked at his inner thighs before turning their attentions to his cock.

John went low, concentrating on his bollocks and the root of his cock while Sherlock mostly focused on the head, sucking and tonguing with relish. Greg's body arched, his hips coming off the floor to try to meet both of their mouths. John and Sherlock shared a look, and without a word, they each laid a gentle bite at the base of Greg's cock. They ran their teeth up his length, tongues tangling and writhing together at the head before they ran their teeth down again. Then they sucked, again along both sides, running their mouths and tongues in tandem.

"Oh! Jesus - Jesus - Mary and Joseph. Motherfucking _Christ_. Whatever you two are doing down there, don't stop. Ever. Fuck, that is _amazing_." Greg's breath let out into a high-pitched hum. More teeth, more sucking, Sherlock pulling off as John swallowed him down and then John pulling off so Sherlock could do the same. They switched off like that for a little bit, Greg's hips bouncing into their mouths slowly. Then they went at it in tandem again, with Greg yelping quietly as John's fingers went to his perineum and Sherlock's hand tugged at his bollocks.

_"John - Sher..."_ Greg moaned as their teeth closed down a bit harder. "Better decide who's getting it, because - _oh God!_ " Both John and Sherlock opened their mouths over the head of Greg's cock, closing over it as best they could by locking their lips together. Their tongues fought and slithered over each other as Greg came, cock pulsing his release into them. Some dribbled out of their mouths and dripped back down Greg's cock, but they bent down to capture it all, licking him quite clean.

Greg's head spun as he caught his breath, feeling the weight of their heads on his thighs. " _Jesus wept_. That was - _fuck_."

John and Sherlock looked at each other and giggled. " _Victory_ ," they said in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a minor strop, and Greg reveals something of his past...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some angst and a little weirdness here that took me a bit by surprise. I don't use warnings because I generally don't need to. I like my smut lighthearted. But apparently, my psyche has something to say about that. 
> 
> So, for this chapter, please be warned. There is mention of child abuse, not the typical sort, but still. There is also an ever-so-brief mention of a death. If any of that is a potential trigger, please look away.

Greg groaned again, loud and long. " _Jesus_. I don't think I can move."  
   
John smirked at Sherlock, who grinned crookedly in reply. "Job well done, then." He sat up slowly. "Does that mean I can have my dinner now?"  
   
Greg snorted from where he lay, feeling utterly blissed out. "If you really wanted to eat, you know that we wouldn't have stopped you."  
   
Sherlock raised himself up on his knees and held out a hand for Greg to aid in pulling him to a sitting position. "No, of course we wouldn't. You could have had your meal, and Greg and I could have gone off and had each other."  
   
John narrowed his eyes and turned to look at the pair of them, Sherlock practically sitting in Greg's lap. "No shagging without me."  
   
"Ever?" Greg's tone was disbelieving. "I could understand you not wanting me to meet Edw -  _ahem_ , anyone else - alone, but this is Sherlock, love. And I'm going to be living here. Isn't this - different?"  
   
"No, not ever. Just...not for now. It's not that I don't trust you or any nonsense like that. I don't think that you two would run off without me. It's just that - well, I don't want to miss anything. I want to see it all."  
   
"Time, love. We have time for you to see everything."  
   
"Just for now. Just until we're settled. Please."  
   
Greg smiled gently. "I'll do the best I can. But you know me and the waiting bit, my love. I'm not good at it."  
   
" _Pah_. You're perfectly capable of exercising self-control, Greg. You just choose not to. Sherlock?"  
   
Sherlock blinked at him slowly, fingers steadily tracing along Greg's neck and collarbone. "I can make no promises, John. But I will try. For you."  
   
"Thank you. That's all I can ask for, really." John stood and bent over to gather his discarded pyjamas. At the sight of the plug still clenched in his arse, Sherlock's fingers suddenly tightened on the back of Greg's neck.  
   
He leaned in close, watching as John retreated to the bathroom. "I want to fuck you, Greg."  
   
Greg's body shuddered. "And I want you to, baby. After dinner. I am starting to feel a bit wonky."  
   
Sherlock smirked, lifting himself to his feet. "Increased physical activity does often require increased nutrition intake."  
   
Greg grasped Sherlock's outstretched hand and pulled himself up before gathering up his clothing as well. "Something you'll do well to remember, Sherlock. Can't have you passing out in the middle of a case. Or in the middle of a shag, for that matter. Bit of a boner-killer, that."  
   
"Can't have that." Sherlock hoisted up his pants and trousers, but left the zip hanging open.  
   
Greg stood back and took him in, the tousled curls a lovely addition to the nicely-pink face and bright gleam in his quicksilver eyes. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, head cocked to the side. Greg grinned. "Sex looks _good_ on you, baby."  
   
Sherlock huffed out a quiet growl, and pulled Greg's naked body to his for a soul-searing kiss. Greg reached out blindly for support, his knees having gone quite wobbly. He found it in the form of John, who quietly slipped an arm around his waist. "Oi, now - what was I just saying?" He had re-dressed himself in his loose pyjama bottoms and had thrown a loose t-shirt on.  
   
Greg heaved in a breath as Sherlock released his mouth. "This isn't shagging, John, it's snogging. Or are you saying we can't do that without you as well?" Sherlock's tone was caustic, but his eyes were sparkling.  
   
"The way _you_ snog, it may as well be a shag." John considered, tapping at his chin. "Snogging is permitted." Sherlock narrowed his eyes with a small smirk. "Above the waist." The smirk turned into a frown. "Preferably, above the neck." The frown deepened as Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. The neck is permitted. I draw the line at nipples."  
   
Greg giggled, and after watching him for a while, Sherlock's frown melted. "You've ruined me, you know. How am I supposed to be all aloof and uncaring at crime scenes when I know that all this" - he gestured broadly at Greg's body - "is just under that dreadful mack and available for the taking?"  
   
"Self-control, baby. Something we're both going to have to work on. Not that you really had any problem holding back before."  
   
" _Before_ , Greg. That's a crucial distinction."  
   
John tugged Greg out of Sherlock's grip and turned him toward the bathroom. "You'll both be fine. For God's sake. You have all of tonight to shag each other silly and hopefully get it out of your systems."  
   
Greg hummed and looked at John over his shoulder. "Actually..."  
    
"What?" John's tone was somehow both exasperated and fond, and Sherlock smirked.  
   
"Are you scheduled at the clinic tomorrow?"  
   
"Nnnooo... Why?"  
   
Greg put a hand to his mouth and coughed unconvincingly. "I think I may be coming down with something. I may need to call in. Even better, I may have to have my doctor call in for me..."  
   
John tried to look stern, but failed completely. "You aren't exactly being a sterling role model here, Greg."  
   
"Eight years, John. And you can't tell me that you've never done anything as irresponsible as calling in simply to shag the day away."  
   
"No, I can't. I was far more irresponsible. Failed to call in at all." Sherlock let out a sharp bark of laughter. John glared at him. "I was also all of _nineteen_. Big difference, love."  
   
Greg turned the full force of his puppy-dog eyes on his lover, pouting slightly as he pulled John in close and bent down to rub his nose along his jaw. "John..."  
   
"Fine! _Fine_. Whatever you want, you damn hussy. But come Tuesday, you are going to behave as an adult and you will be getting your arse out of bed and into work." John pushed him away and threw up his arms in disgust. "Just - just go clean up and put something on or else nobody's getting any dinner. All I've had today is tea and toast and my head's already swimmy enough without looking at you being all _naked_ and _sexy_ and shite. Damn takeaway's already all congealed and _nasty_ and I don't even know whether to trust the microwave - Sherlock, did you clean it out after that last experiment? And I mean _properly_ , just wiping it out does not count as clean, you know. Whatever. Just - just... Away with the both of you." He pushed at them, ushering them out of the kitchen as he continued to mutter and curse under his breath.  
   
Greg and Sherlock suddenly found themselves out in the hallway, listening to the sounds of John stampeding around the small kitchen, rustling bags and slamming plates and cursing the day he ever fell in love with such, such... _man-children_. Greg quickly put a hand to Sherlock's mouth as his eyes widened and laughter threatened to bubble forth.  
   
"If you value your life, Sherlock Holmes, you will _not_ giggle. This is the worst kind of Watson strop you will ever encounter. The 'I-haven't-eaten-all-day-and-heaven-help-the-fool-who-gets-in-the-way-of-my-next-meal' strop." He began to push Sherlock down the hallway to the bedroom, continuing in a hushed whisper. "He will be much more indulgent when his belly's full. Until then, we really need to behave ourselves."  
   
Greg scanned the bedroom, quickly spotting his suitcase in the corner by the wardrobe. He crouched and flipped it open, rifling through the contents for a pair of pyjama bottoms and a tee. Sherlock stood watching, hands on his hips. Finally he exploded, although in the same hushed tone that Greg was using.  
   
"Pish-tosh, Greg. Are you saying that we should cower in terror every time John has a tantrum?" He began to work the buttons on his shirt loose.  
   
"No. Just every time he has a food-related tantrum. Or lack-thereof tantrum." Greg squinted up at him. " _Pish-tosh?_ Really?"  
   
Just then, a voice rang out and down the hallway. "It's too fucking quiet - if you two are up to something, I swear to God I will separate you for the rest of the night. No snogging, no shagging, no nothing! Don't you fucking _test_ me!"  
   
Greg bit down on his t-shirt to stifle his laughter. Sherlock huffed and hollered back down the hallway. "For God's sake, you little horror! We aren't doing anything - stuff some naan down that gullet of yours and calm the fuck down!"  
   
"It's gone all soggy, goddammit."  
   
At John's petulant tone, Greg couldn't hold back anymore. He laughed until he was gasping for breath, crouched over double on the floor. He looked up and saw Sherlock collapsing on the bed, absolutely red-faced with giggling. John stomped into the room and scowled down at the both of them before shaking his head slightly.  
   
"Seems like we all need to calm the fuck down, doesn't it?" John's tone was gentle, his strop seemingly spent. "I'll get some tea started while you two sort yourselves." He turned to Sherlock and poked him in the chest. "You ever call me little again, you overgrown scarecrow..." John left the threat hanging in the air as he headed back to the kitchen.

Sherlock turned to Greg incredulously. "Scarecrow?"

"Well, your hair is a bit - um... And your clothes..." Greg gestured to his half-open shirt and loose fly. "You do look rather undone, baby."

"Your fault." Sherlock started to work on the rest of his buttons.

Greg stood, clutching his nightclothes to his chest. "I will happily take the blame." He nodded at Sherlock's long fingers. "And that's my cue to bugger off. Won't be able to watch you strip down without touching, and touching will lead to trouble."

Sherlock smirked, but did not object when Greg turned and headed into the bathroom. Greg swiftly scrubbed himself down and threw on his favourite chequered flannel bottoms, so tattered and worn that he might as well be wearing nothing at all. He shook out the black t-shirt and frowned at it before tugging it over his head. It was a bit snugger than he was used to, but he decided he rather liked the effect as he studied himself in the mirror.

Greg didn't take the chance of glancing in the bedroom to spy on Sherlock's state of possible undress - he knew better. Instead he went out the hall door, and followed his nose into the kitchen, where John had whipped the takeaway into something edible once again. The naan was obviously heating up in the oven, from the heavenly smell of onion and garlic pervading the air.

John was just putting the finishing touches on the tea, arranging the mugs on a tray. He eyed Greg up and down, gaze lingering on the black tee. Greg shrugged. "Is it one of yours, love? Found it in my suitcase."

John frowned and shook his head. "Nope, not mine." He cocked his head and let his eyes travel again. "You wear it well."

Greg grinned like a fool as he put the bowl of saffron rice on the tray and carried it out to the sitting room. He wasn't surprised to see Sherlock already seated on the sofa, wearing his own version of well-worn and barely-there pyjamas. He _was_ surprised to see that he had cleared away the clutter from the coffee table, and was standing to help Greg with the tray.

Sherlock leant in and gave him a swift kiss, ducking his head away as John entered with a couple plates. He narrowed his slate-blue eyes at the both of them, and shoved Greg's chicken masala at his chest. "You. There." He indicated the opposite side of the sofa from Sherlock, and Greg sighed mournfully as he sat. Sherlock made as if to shuffle over, but was stopped by John's steely glare. He practically dropped Sherlock's plate of butter chicken in his lap. "Stay."

"Why are we being punished now?" Sherlock's whisper barely even carried to Greg's ear.

Greg sighed. "We're not. He's just proving a point, like the tiny tyrant he is." He poked at his chicken and finally put a piece in his mouth as John returned, laden with the bread and that blasted curry. Greg wrinkled his nose as John settled down in between them.

"Oh, shut it. It doesn't smell that bad." Sherlock giggled, his mouth full.

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, until John reached for the telly remote and passed it to Greg. Ridiculously pleased by the gesture, Greg flipped through a few channels and settled on a broadcast of one of his favourite films.

John rolled his eyes with a slight smile. " _The Lost Boys_ , Greg? How many times have you seen this?"

Greg shrugged, his mouth full. Sherlock studied the telly briefly, watching as the Frog Brothers explained various ways of testing for vampires.

_"Oh."_ Both John and Greg turned to him at that familiar sound, the gasp of illumination. "Vampires. Why vampires, Greg? I noticed that you had a number of books at your flat. Not just the silly romantic nonsense, but short stories and legends and research materials. You're fascinated by them, aren't you?"

Greg shrugged again, his throat suddenly dry. John ran a hand up his thigh before turning back to Sherlock. "It's just a thing. He thinks they're sexy, I guess. That's probably where the biting kink comes from, anyway." He grinned as he felt Greg shiver slightly under his hand.

"No, there's more. Research, John. He had copies of old texts, books on Vlad Tepes and Countess Bathory. Porphyria. It's more than a thing. It is, no - was - an obsession. Why?"

Greg put his plate down on the coffee table and took a long draught of tea. He sighed and muted the telly, turning in his seat to take in both of his lovers. Sherlock sat forward, craning to look around John. Greg took a breath, but halted at John's soft touch at his mouth.

"You don't have to, love."

Greg blinked at him before taking his hand and twining their fingers together. "I know. But he asked, and anything he asks, I will do my best to answer."

John fidgeted. "It's not like I didn't want to ask. I just..."

"You knew that there was more to it, and you were content to wait until I was ready to talk about it. And now I am."

Sherlock took John's nearly empty plate out of his hand and put it down, his own having been discarded long ago. He turned sideways on the sofa, stretching one long leg out. Sherlock turned John sideways as well, cradling his back to his chest and putting his sharp chin on the top of John's head. John rolled his eyes, but stretched out his own legs, resting them in Greg's lap. 

Greg sat and looked at the both of them, rapt attention on him, like children at storytime. He couldn't help but smile crookedly, his heart absurdly full at the sight. Then he sighed again. "Sherlock. After I tell you this, you will undoubtedly have more questions. These are questions that I cannot and perhaps will not answer. If I ask you not to dig, will you do your best not to?"

Sherlock frowned and tightened his grip on John's middle. "John will stop me, I am sure. He has all of our best interests in mind."

Greg smiled softly and ran his hands up John's shins before taking a deep breath. "When I was a child, I was ill. A _lot_. My earliest memories are of people fussing around me, being too weak to move. Hot and cold chills, being doused in icewater to bring down my stupidly high fevers. Vomiting. My God. Sometimes my throat would bleed. My mum was always at the centre of it, accepting sympathy from friends and neighbors while tending to me. I'd get better, the attention would wane. And then I'd get sick again. The doctors could never say exactly what was wrong with me, although I did often see them talking with my Da.

Around the time I turned eight, I was going through another bout of whatever it was. My Da brought me _'Dracula'_. I don't really know why, I hadn't been exposed to that kind of literature before. Mum was religious, a little mad with it, I suppose. She never would have taken with that kind of supernatural nonsense in her house, and he knew it. So he told me to hide it, and I did. I read it over and over again. I began to think that perhaps he was telling me something by getting it for me, that maybe I was a vampire's late-night snack, and that's why I was constantly sick.

So I wore my crucifix, and ate as much garlic as I could get away with." Here, John smiled briefly. "But it didn't help. It never helped. I was still sick, all the damn time. Until I turned twelve. That's when _she_ got sick. That's the year we went to live at the army base with the training hospital, and she stayed in hospital, and me and Da lived in some rooms at the base. I found more books, read as much as I could." Greg laughed without humour. "I thought that maybe she had offered her life in exchange for mine, and I was going to put a stop to it."

Sherlock reached out his hand, grabbing at Greg's twitching fingers and stilling them with a gentle grip. "Even then, you wanted to save people."

John's hand reached for Greg's free one. "His _mum_ , Sherlock. Not just 'people'."

Greg shook his head slightly. "No, Sherlock's right. Obviously, I wanted Mum to be well, but I didn't want anyone else getting hurt either. I was going to kill the blasted thing. I stole the Host from the chapel, worked it into putty and stuffed it into every crevice in her room to keep the vampire from getting in. I carved stakes, for fuck's sake. Hid outside her window until the sun rose, hoping to catch the creature as it tried to return to its' tomb. You can't understand how _real_ it all was to me. I was nearly cracked by it all. 

Da noticed, of course. He didn't lecture me, or forbid me from doing what I felt I had to do. He did box up some of those blasted books and tuck them away, and he started me up with the local boys' footie club. Took to that like a duck to water, and then I was too tired to sit up all night, waiting for the vampire to show. Once I was given other things to focus on, it faded, like most obsessions do." Greg gave a little nod to Sherlock, who frowned briefly, but acknowledged the truth of his statement with a tiny dip of his chin. "I came to realise that she was just sick. Even though they never could figure out what with. Just like when I was younger. She passed when I was seventeen, and Da had her cremated. No autopsy.

I went on to Uni, and to the academy, and - well. I forgot. Felt like a right tit for ever believing that vampires could be real, and I didn't want to think about what it really could have been. The biting thing came about after I met Nora. She was a proper London goth, sweeping black skirts and corsets and all..."

"Goth?"

John patted Sherlock's knee. "Music, love. And the culture that sprang up around it. I'll get you some Sisters of Mercy to listen to."

Greg stuck out his tongue. "Bauhaus, John."

John grinned. "I'll pull out the Siouxsie as well, shall I?" 

" _Mm._ She looked quite a bit like Siouxsie, y'know. God, we practically gnawed each other to _bits_ in those early days." John grinned at the faraway look in Greg's eyes, while Sherlock scowled fiercely. Greg shook his head at him. "Long gone, baby. She and I barely even talk anymore. You don't have anything to worry about. But she was the catalyst for bringing all those vampire books back out of the back of the cupboard. I started reading them again, with a different perspective, of course. Now I just think they're dead sexy." 

Both John and Sherlock giggled, and Greg cocked his head at them curiously. Then he realised just what he had said, and shook his head while grinning widely. The grin disappeared slowly. "It wasn't until I started figuring out - other - things that I even thought of Mum again. And with the training that I had received, and further education out in the field... Well. I finally figured out what had really happened when I was a kid, why I had been so sick." John's hand tightened on his, almost to the point of pain.

Sherlock held his hand gently, long fingers caressing his pulse point. "Münchausen syndrome by proxy. At least until you were twelve."

Greg nodded. "Most likely, yeah. But there's no-one to ask, even if I wanted to. Da saw me graduate the academy, but passed before I even made Sergeant. All the doctors that I remembered were old country men. They're all gone. Mum's remains were entombed, and there's not much you can pull from ash anyhow." Sherlock's mouth opened, but snapped shut as John nudged him with his elbow.

Then it opened again. "How can you not want to _know_?"

Greg closed his eyes with a shaky sigh. "I do know, Sherlock. I don't need evidence or testimonies to _know_." He swallowed against a tremor in his voice that he just couldn't fight anymore. "When I allowed myself to start thinking about it, I did some cursory investigating. Enough to find my sister's birth certificate. And the death certificate as well. She was three. I was born after she died, and neither my mother nor my father ever told me she even existed. Her name was Elizabeth."

Silence, and then hands tugging him forward, pulling him down to lay his head on John's chest. His own chest hitched once or twice, but no tears fell. The tears for his unknown sibling had been exorcised years ago, and Greg had become adept at shoving down any reaction after long years of looking down at broken bodies, helpless to do anything but eventually find them justice.

Greg tipped his face up, eyes still closed firmly, placing a kiss on the underside of John's chin. He felt hands pulling him up, John's firm lips on his own, kissing him gently. A quiet grumbling, a seismic shift under him as Sherlock strained to place his own open-mouthed kisses on Greg's temple, on the hand that he still held in his.

"John..." Sherlock's deep baritone, imploring without asking.

"Yes." John gently pushed Greg up, slid out from underneath him. Sherlock took a moment to kiss Greg thoroughly before standing himself, pulling Greg along with him. Greg finally opened his eyes and saw both of his lovers standing there, their eyes soft with emotion. Love, not pity or dread. They each took a hand and started to lead him down the hallway to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Münchausen Syndrome (also known as Factitious Disorder) is a mental disorder by which a person seeks attention or sympathy by pretending to be ill, or by actually making themselves ill via poisons and other methods.
> 
> The 'by proxy' comes in when this person seeks attention by making others ill, usually a parent (usually the mother), poisoning their child to produce the signs of illness. This is very rare, and per Wikipedia, the UK has established the legal precedent that MSbP does not exist as a medico-legal entity. (In most jurisdictions, doctors can give evidence as to whether a child is being harmed, but not allowed to speculate as to the motive behind the abuse.) So it's possible that Greg's doctors would have had their suspicions, but they may not have been able to do anything to stop it, especially in the 70s/early 80s, when Greg was a child.
> 
> (Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock comfort Greg as best they can...

Sherlock and John carefully stripped Greg of his clothing and then guided him to the bed. He propped himself up on a pillow and watched as they then divested each other of their pyjamas and held a quick but hushed conference. Despite the apparent gravitas of the situation, Greg couldn't help but smile as his two lovers bickered almost silently, an entire argument seemingly being carried out with only pointed glares and expressive downturns of mouths.

He knew what Sherlock wanted, and was fairly certain that John would think it too invasive, as Greg was apparently feeling rather vulnerable. Greg didn't agree, but he was more than content to let them take care of him however they wished. Finally, John just sighed heavily and slid into bed, pressing down onto Greg for a deep kiss.

Greg melted into it, his hands finding John's waist and slipping around to the small of his back, pulling him down closer. John hummed and moved his mouth to Greg's neck, lips and tongue working slow circles against his flesh. Greg groaned and rolled his head back, giving John more access. If there was one thing that John Watson was exceedingly good at, it was this. Kissing every part of Greg that needed attention, craved it, even. Greg had never known what exquisite agony it was just to be kissed, until John had first spent a good hour taking him apart with nothing more than his mouth.

John nipped along his collarbone as Greg felt a shift in the bed beside him. Gentle but insistent hands pushed and tugged until Greg was on his side, John still plastered to his front as Sherlock snugged up behind him. Greg's body shuddered violently at the feeling of Sherlock's hard cock being pressed firmly into the cleft of his arse. Greg gasped as Sherlock mouthed at the nape of his neck.

"Yes. Oh, _yes_ , please..."

Sherlock lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow at John, who merely harrumphed quietly and rolled over slightly to reach into the bedside table for supplies. Sherlock traced his long white fingers over Greg's side, down to his flank. Gooseflesh erupted over the trail he had left behind, and Greg gasped again. Then John was grasping his knee, pulling it up over his waist. He reached down, and touched there, just _there_ , rubbing small circles against Greg's entrance with slick fingers.

Greg's back arched and he moaned wantonly as John's finger breached him slowly. Soft, gentle, thrusting in time to the flickering of his tongue over Greg's nipples. Then, oh God, _then_ \- Sherlock's hand joining John's, one long, thin digit neatly slotting in next to small and strong. Greg rolled his hips as both fingers moved in tandem and then not, dancing with and against each other.

"Oh, _sweet_ Jesus..."

Sherlock hummed, running his nose along Greg's hairline and then the back of his neck. He kissed his shoulders and bit down gently as he inserted another finger. Greg cried out and clutched at John as his finger pressed in even deeper, crooking it slightly and seeking out that spot, just there. Greg whined as he found it, caressing gently.

"Ready, love?"

"Oh, bloody _Christ_ , yes. Please..."

John nodded at Sherlock, and Greg whined again as his fingers slipped out of him. John kept his finger working him as Sherlock sheathed and slicked up his cock. And then it was Sherlock's hand grasping his leg, pulling it up and out, and John's hand guiding Sherlock's cock to Greg's hole. Sherlock grunted softly as he pushed in, growling quietly as he met with some resistance.

" _Slowly_ , love."

Sherlock hummed and paused, waiting until Greg took in a breath and let it out with a sigh. Sherlock pushed again, sliding neatly past the second ring of muscle. Buried in balls-deep, he stilled, waiting. Greg took in another great breath, and felt something in his belly wobble loose. Sherlock growled faintly and started to move his hips in shallow, slow thrusts.

"God, _oh God_."

Greg's mind went blissfully blank as his body tried to process the myriad sensations, too many mouths and hands all over. Sherlock's cock, sliding in and out in a steady drag that was igniting a slow fire in his gut. Dear God, it was _Sherlock_ inside him. Sherlock draped over his back, murmuring his name in his ear, in that sinful voice like black velvet. It was Sherlock's breath that was heating up his neck, panting out in short quick gasps. Sherlock, holding back so carefully, his entire body trembling from the effort. Sweet Christ in heaven, Sherlock Holmes was _fucking_ him.

John started to scoot downward in the bed, his hands leading the way for his mouth to follow, his tongue tracing all the curves and hollows of Greg's body. He reached down to cup Greg's bollocks, squeezing and rolling gently. Sherlock stilled suddenly as John's fingers brushed against his sack, and John reached out to cup them both, rubbing the soft and heavy flesh together. Sherlock bit down on Greg's shoulder sharply, bringing them both back from the brink with a gasp.

John released them and continued on his downward journey. Greg rolled his hips back, and Sherlock took the invitation, thrusting in deeper now, but not increasing his pace. Greg groaned as John paused at his navel, dipping and circling his tongue in ever-widening circles. Sherlock grunted and rolled backward slightly, pulling up on Greg's leg, further exposing him to John's careful ministrations. John hummed his appreciation and moved even further down, bypassing Greg's cock completely and going straight for his bollocks. Greg moaned and thrashed his head.

"John, for fuck's sake." Greg looked down, seeing nothing but the top of his tawny head, sliding slowly from side to side as he dragged the flat of his tongue across and down. "John, please. If I say that I love you more than life itself, will you please, for the love of God and all the blessed saints, please, _please_ suck me off?"

Greg felt a quick puff of breath blow across his spit-soaked bollocks and he gasped. John tilted his head and looked up at him, slate-blue eyes serious, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps."

"I love you more than life itself. _Now get to it_." Sherlock snapped his hips and Greg cried out. "Please!"

John took pity and moved up slightly, running his tongue up Greg's length, just that incidental contact making his body quiver. He put his mouth to the head of Greg's cock and waited. He waited for Sherlock to snap his hips again, driving Greg's cock deep into John's mouth.

"Ah, Christ! _Again_ , baby, please. I need more..."

Sherlock obliged, thrusting in deep and strong, rocking Greg's cock in and out of John's mouth in a steady rhythm. Greg was soon reduced to babbling nonsense sounds and wordless grunts in between exclamations of _'more, baby, more'_ , and _'oh God, love, let me come'_. John hummed and sucked harder as his fingers worked their way to his perineum.

It only took one solid rub, and then Greg was coming hard, his spine contorting in such a fashion that he was curling in around John's head and pushing back against Sherlock's cock. Greg was only able to let out a strangled squeak as his body convulsed and shivered to pieces. Sherlock gasped as Greg's body contracted around him, and he slowed as the last of the tremors were abating. John sucked him through most of his orgasm, but pulled off before the last couple of spurts, letting it fall on his neck and chest.

John crawled back up as Greg was coming back to himself, and he moaned at John's dishevelled state. Without a word he pulled him close and licked him clean before snogging him like a man possessed. Sherlock moaned and then whined quietly. Greg gently pushed John away.

"Yeah, baby. I know. Pull out for a second, okay?" John scooted further over as Greg rolled over onto his belly and pushed himself up on his knees and elbows. He dipped his spine and stuck his arse in the air. "C'mon, baby. Fuck me as hard as you need to. I want to feel you come."

Sherlock clambered to his knees and nearly tripped over Greg's legs in his eagerness to position himself. Even so, he paused briefly, taking time to run his hands down Greg's back, over his arse and down the backs of his thighs. Sherlock mumbled something softly, too quiet for Greg to hear over the sound of his own laboured breathing. He held it for a moment, sharing a look with John as Sherlock's murmuring reached their ears.

_"Je suis un poète et vous êtes la poésie..."_ But then all the air rushed out of Greg's mouth as Sherlock slid back in, thrusting deep. Greg groaned and braced his arms against the headboard as Sherlock took what he needed, moving fast and hard, striving for his own finish.

"God, yes.  _Fuck_ me, baby."

Sherlock grunted behind him and then snarled as John moved to take himself in hand. "No, John. You'll corrupt the data."

"Christ, are you serious? I'm about to burst here, Sherlock!"

Greg cried out as Sherlock snapped his hips viciously. "Have I ever been anything but?"

Greg turned his head. "Just hold on to me, love. Won't be long." John turned his body slightly and wrapped both hands around Greg's arm, sinking his teeth into his bicep for good measure. "There's a good lad." John whimpered, and Greg buried his nose in his hair. " _Fuck_. Jesus fuck, John, just wait until you've got him inside you." Greg cried out again, feeling Sherlock's steady rhythm starting to break apart.

John unlatched his mouth from Greg's arm. "Shut up, Greg. Just _shut up_." John pressed their lips together desperately, and it was at that moment that Sherlock flew to bits inside him, pulling Greg's hips to him so hard that they may as well have been melded together.

Sherlock gave voice to a loud shout that quickly petered out into more random French murmurings. _"Ah, mon Dieu, ange, mon ange, je t'aime, mon coeur, pour toujours et à jamais... Mon Dieu, mon Dieu..."_

Greg was only barely aware of Sherlock pulling out, as John continued to snog him mercilessly, clinging to him like a man clinging to a lifebelt. Greg felt his lower limbs being rearranged, and fell back onto his belly with relief. There was a dip of the mattress as Sherlock relieved himself of the condom and then he pounced on poor John's hitherto neglected cock.

"Ah, fuck!" Greg looked down at Sherlock's steadily bobbing head as John practically sobbed in relief. "Thank _Christ_." Greg hummed against John's neck as he continued to clutch at his arm, fingers digging in deep. "Fuck, yes, oh God... _Sherlock!_ " John groaned as his orgasm ripped through him, leaving him trembling in Greg's arms.

_"Ergh."_ Sherlock looked up at the two men wrapped up in each other, his face twisted into a horrified grimace. He spat what was in his mouth onto John's belly and stuck out his tongue. "That is _revolting_. Good God, John. You're never to eat curry again as long as you _live_." Sherlock's nose scrunched up adorably. "Yuck."

John's eyes squinted nearly closed, and Greg half-thought that he was going to be an eyewitness to a crime of passion, but then John just started chuckling. Greg sighed in relief and let his head fall back onto the bed as Sherlock clambered off the bed and into the bathroom, making a big show of cleaning his teeth and gargling with mouthwash. He did, however, come back with a damp flannel to help clean up what he had left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets an unpleasant phone call, and Sherlock helps to deal with the nuisance on the other line...

"Are you sure you have enough data points to come to that particular conclusion?" John's face was serious, but his voice was mocking.  
   
"Quite. And of course I have the prior experience of my esteemed colleague to call upon. He's very well versed in this particular field of study."  
   
Greg laughed as Sherlock climbed back into the bed at his side. "Hear that, love? You're a field of study!"  
   
"Yeah, and apparently, you're the senior researcher."  
   
 _"Hm."_ Greg held out his arms and waited for his lovers to arrange themselves accordingly. He sighed deeply. "That was amazing, my loves. Just the thing I needed." Greg squeezed Sherlock tight. "Was it what you expected?"  
   
"Better. So much better."  
   
"What was that nonsense you were spouting?"  
   
Sherlock cocked his head. "How do you mean?"  
   
"French. You were mumbling _French_ , baby."  
   
"I - I don't recall, exactly." Sherlock looked confused. "I guess I got a bit carried away." He grinned suddenly and both Greg and John took in a sharp breath. "You seem to do that to me, Greg. But no, I don't remember what I said."  
   
"I am a poet and you are poetry. Something like that, anyway." Greg and Sherlock turned to John. "That was the first bit. The second bit was something about my angel, I love you, my heart, forever and always. Rather romantic coming from you, Sherlock. Oh, and my God." He chuckled quietly. "There was a fair amount of that." He rolled his eyes at the looks that he was getting. "No, I don't speak it, not really. It's more like I just understand it. Not sure why."  
   
But that was a lie, wasn't it? John's mind flitted unbidden to a something a lifetime ago, before Afghanistan. A tour in Libya, where he had been captured and tortured for three months before being released. His captors had taken to whispering sweet nothings to him in French as they were beating him. So yes, he had understood Sherlock's impassioned mumblings. And while the words may have been similar to those he had heard in that other life, he wasn't going to allow that nightmare to corrupt this truly beautiful thing he had found.  
   
John's eyes skittered away from Sherlock's sharp gaze, and there it was, that soft _'oh'_ of illumination. Greg looked between them both as Sherlock reached over his chest to caress John's face. He knew that something had passed between them, recognised the look of pain that John was struggling to conceal. Greg squeezed him gently, and resolutely did not ask. If John wanted to tell him about it, he would.  
   
Sherlock huffed out a quiet breath. "I suppose that if you really love curry that much, I won't forbid you from having it. Just - make sure you warn us. If I were to encounter that by surprise, it just may put me off your cock indefinitely. Agreed?"  
   
John smiled brightly. "I'll just prepare a meal plan, shall I?"  
   
Sherlock chuckled and just then they heard Greg's mobile go off in the sitting room, his 'London Calling' ringtone quite unmistakable. "Oh!" Sherlock was off the bed like a shot, eager for the possibility of an interesting case. There was a clatter as the phone was swept off the coffee table, and then another _'oh,'_ this one much more subdued and possibly even irritated. "Yes?" Greg rolled his eyes and sat up as he realised that Sherlock had answered his call. "Wait."  
   
Sherlock came back into the bedroom with a sulk firmly affixed to his face and handed over Greg's phone. Greg glared at him, snatching it out of his hand. He looked at the screen and winced when he read Edward's information. He showed it to John briefly before putting the phone to his ear. "Hey, E." Greg winced again as Sherlock shot him a look. Probably wasn't the wisest to use the somewhat affectionate nickname, but it had just come out.  
   
Sherlock settled in cross-legged near the foot of the bed, reaching out to run his fingers over John's legs. They listened to the one-sided conversation, John's eyes drifting closed at the sound of Greg's melodious voice. Sherlock's attention did not waver, of course.   
   
"That was none of your business, that's who. It's not like we were exclusive with you or anything, so just drop it. We were at the club last night, Edward. We weren't really feeling it though, so we decided to leave early. I didn't promise you anything. I said we _might_ be there, and we were. Don't tell me that we left you high and dry or anything, because I know better. No, we aren't at mine and even if we were, I wouldn't be inviting you over. Listen. No, _listen_ to me, Edward. We're done. John and I told you from the beginning that this was going to be at our discretion, and you've been pushing for more and more lately. It was getting to be a little uncomfortable already, and we had been talking of breaking it off with you, and well... Our situation has changed rather suddenly, so we're closing it back up."  
   
Just then, Sherlock decided to run his fingers gently up John's instep, causing the nearly comatose man to jump violently and giggle loudly.  
   
"Shit." Greg pulled the phone away from his ear and smacked Sherlock lightly. "Baby, knock that off." He brought the phone back to his head. "No, again - none of your business. I told you, the situation is different now." Greg sighed heavily. "Edward, I don't want to hurt you. _Please._ Can't you just let it go? No, of course not, what was I thinking. Just - okay! Okay, fine! Yes. John is participating this time. We're both involved with this man and that's the way it's going to be. It's _me_ and _John_ and _baby_ from now on, and you will be _no part_ of my life any longer. Is that what you wanted to hear? Goddammit, Edward, I _told_ you. We told you from the very beginning. Why didn't you listen? Why do you never fucking listen?"  
   
Greg hung his head and ran his free hand over his forehead. "This, of all things, I did not need tonight. No, Edward. Just - no. We're _done_." He threw his phone down on the bed without bothering to hang it up, all three of them looking at it as the voice on the other end continued to babble on.  
   
"Greg..." The babble abruptly cut off as Sherlock neatly projected his voice over it.   
   
Greg glanced at the phone as Sherlock started to crawl up the bed, deliberately placing his body weight so the springs creaked underneath him. "Yeah, baby?"  
   
"Did you mean it? That's it's just you and John and me?"  
   
"Of course. I said so, didn't I?"  
   
Sherlock snatched up the phone on his way past, climbing over and straddling Greg's crossed legs. John sat up and took the phone from him, shaking his head slightly. His thumb hovered over the 'end' button uncertainly. John had never liked Edward, and he had made no secret of his dislike of John in return, but this seemed horribly cruel nevertheless.  
   
"John?"  
   
"Yes, love?"  
   
Sherlock smiled wickedly as John held up the phone. _"Je vous aime. Je vous aime, mes amours, pour toujours."_  
   
John disconnected the call in the middle of Greg's breathy moan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock justifies his actions, and John may or may not reward him for it... :)

"Christ, Sherlock, you're a nasty fucker."  
   
John shook his head slightly. "It was mean, but Edward clearly wasn't getting the message, love. I think Sherlock just found a way to get it through that incredibly thick skull of his." John paused. "Hopefully."  
   
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John somewhat dangerously and Greg took the opportunity to poke him in the ribs, grinning at his sharp yelp. "Whatever it is, get it out of your head, baby. He's done, and I don't want you causing trouble." Sherlock smirked and pressed closer, rutting against Greg's belly firmly. "Well, any more trouble than the usual..." Greg blew out a sharp breath. "Jesus, did that horrible display of yours actually _turn you on_?"  
   
Sherlock leaned in to tongue at Greg's neck. "Mm. Blame John. It was his complicity that inspired this - reaction. His possessiveness as much as my own jealousy. He had the phone, he knew what I was going to do. He could have hung up at any time, but he didn't, because John wants Edward out of the picture just as much as I do." Sherlock rubbed against him a little harder as Greg's hands came up to cup and knead at his arse. " _Mm_. You're ours, Greg. John's and mine. And yes. Knowing that certainly does turn me on."  
   
"Oh God." Greg leaned his forehead into Sherlock's chest as the younger man threw back his head, moving his hips faster. "But - oh _Jesus_ , sweet fucking Jesus. Edward knew that I was John's all along. He hadn't a chance of winning me back. He knew that."  
   
"Doesn't mean he wasn't holding out hope, love. I can't tell you the number of times he tried to threaten me, or tell me that I couldn't give you what he could."  
   
"What? You never told me. I would have put a stop to it, dammit."  
   
John shrugged as he got to his knees next to Sherlock. "Later, love. Someone apparently needs tending to." Greg threw him a look that clearly said John wasn't going to be able to distract him for long. John shrugged and ran slick fingers down and between the cleft of Sherlock's surprisingly plump behind, grinning as he mewled and stilled suddenly. Greg hummed and took firm hold, spreading his cheeks for John's questing fingers. John slid one finger in easily, probing deep. Sherlock rocked his hips desperately.  
   
"More. Oh, God, more." John complied, slipping in a second digit and pumping his hand rhythmically. "More more _more_... Please oh _God_." John kept it to two for the moment, still thrusting his fingers in deep. "God, Greg, I wish I had your cock inside me right now."  
   
Greg grinned as his prick twitched a little forlornly. "Yeah, well. He seems to be having a bit of a lie-down at the mo. Maybe later, baby. And don't forget, we've all day tomorrow to muck about." Greg winked at John, who tried to look stern, but failed abysmally.  
   
"Oh God - then touch me, Greg. _Please_ oh please..." Greg released his grip on Sherlock's luscious behind and trailed one hand along his hip and to his belly and then lower while the other reached up to brush his fringe away from his forehead. He pulled Sherlock in for a deep kiss just as his fingers wrapped around his shaft. It was at that moment that John added a third finger, causing Sherlock to cry out into Greg's mouth. "Fuck, _yes_ , theretherethere oh God..."  
   
Greg stroked him quickly as John finger-fucked him hard and fast. Both men watched in awe as Sherlock's long pale body undulated between them, the cords in his neck standing out in stark relief as he threw his head back and moaned loudly, unabashedly. "There - just... _yes_. Fuck oh _fuck_ \- yesyesYES!" Sherlock went completely stiff, the muscles in his body clenching all at once. Neither Greg nor John slowed their hands or gentled their strokes, roughly carrying him over and past the peak of his orgasm.  
   
It wasn't until Sherlock's body softened and he let out a pained whine that the men withdrew. John went to the bathroom to wash his hands, and came back into the room to the sight of his lovers both cleaning Greg's hand, their tongues flickering against each other nimbly. Greg finally just pulled Sherlock into him and stuck his tongue in his mouth, snogging him intensely. When he pulled back, Sherlock leant back in, peppering his mouth and face and neck with tiny little pecks.  
   
"Taste like _me_ , oh God, you taste like me. I've marked you now, you're _mine_. I've fucked you, you're mine. Oh God, Greg. Mine. Mineminemine _mine_."  
   
Greg was chuckling, eyes a little dazed. "Yes, baby. Yours. Okay? Okay - all right, now?"  
   
John crawled back into the bed, insinuating himself into their little bubble. He took Greg's hand and inspected it closely, spotting a little streak of come on his palm that had escaped their attentions. He swiped his tongue over it, and then pushed the couple apart slightly to inspect their bellies. "Just as I thought. You two are utterly hopeless." The two men leaned away from each other as John lowered his head and licked at Greg's luscious belly before turning and cleaning Sherlock's lovely flat stomach quite thoroughly.  
   
Greg's already dark eyes had gone even darker as John slowly sat back on his heels. Sherlock took John's face in his hands and ran his nose over John's lips. "Mm. You smell like me." John pressed in for a deep kiss, opening his mouth for Sherlock's tongue to invade. "Taste like me. Only a little. We'll have to remedy that." John smiled and knocked his forehead against Sherlock's gently. Sherlock blinked and dropped his gaze briefly. "John - can I, that is, may I, _um_..."  
   
John laughed. "A bashful Sherlock. That's different. Yes, you may. You'll find that both Greg and I are rather amenable to having cocks stuffed up our bums. So you will be able to have a go at my exquisitely magnificent arse at some point."  
   
Sherlock beamed at them both before that small 'oh' made his eyes go wide again. "The shoebox. Your, _um_ \- toys. I want to see."  
   
John nodded briefly and Sherlock fair leapt off of Greg's lap, swiping his pants off the floor and hopping into them before bolting down the hallway. Greg watched him go with one eyebrow firmly elevated. "I think I'm beginning to understand your dislike of the whole 'Tigger' thing, love."  
   
John laughed and slid off the bed before tossing Greg's pants at him. "C'mon. Let's make sure he doesn't break anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little quiet time in front of the telly... Mostly.

They came out to the sitting room to find that Sherlock had unceremoniously dumped the contents of the shoebox out onto the coffee table. He was shifting through various and sundry, sorting the toys according to some unknown criteria, his nose crinkled in thought. Greg turned to catch the faint blush and sheepish grin on John's face. He laughed and pressed a swift kiss to his temple.

Sherlock muttered to himself and reached out for a laptop - any laptop, whose didn't exactly matter - and the remainders of his earlier dinner. John pulled a face and went to snatch the plate away.

"We'll make you something if you're hungry, love. This is - _ugh_. No longer edible." Sherlock cocked his head slightly and then smiled slowly. John flapped a hand at him and Greg grabbed at trays and plates and whatever else had been left behind, carrying it into the kitchen behind John.

They cleaned up together, John washing and Greg drying, his heart nearly full to exploding with the delightful domesticity of it all. Home, he had a home again, after so long, after a string of lifeless and heartless flats, Greg was finally home. John seemed to sense the somewhat giddy train of his thoughts, as he let him process in silence, his shoulder bumping into Greg's arm companionably as they worked.

Greg paused, damp tea-towel in hand, and turned to John. He had just finished filling the kettle, and reached for the towel to dry his hands. John tugged, and Greg held fast, bringing their bodies closer together. "I love you, John. I love you and I love Sherlock and I love that I'm living here now. I just - God, what if this is all a dream? What if I wake up tomorrow, still stuck at that horrid flat, still unable to touch Sherlock? If this is a dream I think I'll just go stark staring _mad_ , thank you very much."

John smiled up at him gently before placing a damp and somewhat chilly hand over Greg's heart. Greg shivered. "There you go. If this were a dream, wouldn't my hand have been all warm and cosy? Not feeling quite so like a dead fish?"

Greg shook his head. "My dreams can be quite realistic that way. You wouldn't think that doing the washing-up would present itself in a dream either, but this feels very dreamlike all the same."

"You are an odd one, Gregory Lestrade." Greg hummed as John pulled him down for a thorough snog. He moaned throatily as John's hands clapped onto his arse and squeezed hard.

Within moments, Sherlock's curly head popped round the doorway. "I thought you two were meant to be making me something to eat. Not getting ready to defile the kitchen yet again." He moved to block the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "And what was that about no shagging without all parties present?"

John rolled his eyes as Greg continued to grope him. "That isn't at all what I said. I said that you two were not to shag without _me_. I'm free to shag either of you whenever the hell I feel like it. No, it isn't fair, and no, I don't particularly care. Those are the rules, and I expect you both to abide by them." John moaned slightly as Greg worked on sucking a deep mark on his neck. "I don't expect the moratorium to last too - _Jesus_ \- too long anyhow." John placed his hands on Greg's shoulders and firmly pushed him away. "Help me find something to feed to this scarecrow that's hovering in our kitchen, my love."

Greg shook himself, eyes dazed. " _Um_." Both John and Sherlock smirked, and he shook himself again before he started rifling through the cabinets. "Ha. Here we are." He held out a small packet. "Is there milk?" John perused the fridge and found some lurking in the back. He sniffed it and declared it safe for consumption. Greg tossed the packet at him. "Custard for late-night tea, then."

Sherlock's eyes lit up and John grinned. "Between us both we should manage to put a little bit of weight on this unsightly sack of bones..."

Greg smiled a little ruefully and patted his belly. "As long as we don't do the same, of course."

Sherlock frowned slightly and reached out to trail his fingertips along the curve of Greg's stomach over the waistband of his pants. "I wouldn't mind. More to love." He moved in close, deliberately grinding against him. "More to rub myself against until I come. All over that tasty, luscious, oh-so-perfect belly." Sherlock slowly sank to his knees and buried his face in the body part in question.

"Well, Jesus fucking Christ." Greg clutched Sherlock's head to him gently as he licked and nibbled and rubbed. "I had not expected that my stomach, of all things, would delight you in quite this way. Or that I would enjoy you enjoying it _quite_ so much. Oh, dear God."

Sherlock looked up at him seriously. "All of you, Greg. I love every single bit."

Greg looked to John, who was watching with wide eyes and a bemused smile. "Now I know it's a dream. Nobody could be that sincere about loving my tum."  
   
Sherlock sighed in exasperation as John shook his head. "I can never get through to him, Sherlock, just how delicious he is. Maybe you'll have better luck."  
   
"Hm. I may have some - ideas." Greg gasped as Sherlock's silver-blue eyes glinted up at him. "But for the moment - " He stood and grasped Greg's hand. "Music. I want to hear this 'goth' that you spoke of earlier." He started to pull him back into the sitting room.  
   
"But John - "  
   
John smiled and waved them out. "I'm fine. You two behave yourselves out there."  
   
Greg pushed Sherlock toward the sofa and headed into the bedroom to fetch his laptop from his luggage. While there, he went ahead and threw on some nightclothes. All of the attention to his stomach had been interesting, but it had left him feeling a bit exposed, for some reason. Sherlock made a little moue of disappointment upon seeing him, but Greg ignored it.  
   
"All right, then, let's see what we can find for you." Greg rapidly scrolled through his music files, throwing a bit of this and a bit of that into a random playlist. "Have you - " Sherlock held up a pair of earbuds, and Greg shook his head. "Too tinny." He looked around briefly and spotted the headphones nestled on the bovine skull hanging on the wall. "What about those - do they work?" Sherlock nodded and pulled them down. "Okay, so I couldn't quite contain myself to just goth, so there's some industrial and New Wave in there as well. And hell, some alternative too. Anything you don't like, just skip over, yeah?"  
   
He passed over his laptop and reached for the telly remote just as John came back into the room with the tray of tea and the bowl of custard. "Tea's on, m'lads." Greg stood to take the tray from him as John scowled down at the coffee table, where Sherlock had neatly lined up all of his toys. Greg caught his eye and John blushed bright-red before snatching them all up and throwing them back into the shoebox at random. He disappeared down the hall with his bounty and then returned, clad in a similar fashion to Greg, pyjama bottoms and a tee.  
   
John settled in on Greg's other side and leaned in to him, sipping at his tea delicately. Greg took up the bowl of custard and fed a bite to John before taking a bite himself. Then he passed it over to Sherlock and watched as he absentmindedly began to consume the entire dish, one heaping spoonful at a time. He shared a look with John and left Sherlock to it. "The more calories the better, I suppose." John nodded and focused on the telly, some random documentary on sea life. He winced as a shark casually tossed a sea lion out of the water. Greg chuckled low. "Pass it over, then."  
   
John raised one tawny eyebrow. _"Hm?"_  
   
Greg turned to him and spoke in an undertone. "The remote. I know when you've got something stuffed up your bum, love. You sit differently."  
   
"You're really more observant than he gives you credit for." Greg grinned and held out his hand. "Fine. Just - not too much, all right? I want to make it last."  
   
"Oh, I know you do." Greg shivered slightly as he palmed the bright purple remote, fingers already itching to twist the little dial up as far as it would go. Instead he watched Sherlock for a little bit, totally engrossed in his laptop. He was pulling up information on the various bands that Greg had showcased for him, eyes flickering over the screen rapidly. From time to time, he would cock his head as if listening to something very closely, but then would impatiently click on the next song. Greg couldn't really tell if he was getting anything out of it, as his face remained fairly impassive.  
   
It was fascinating, really, just watching Sherlock consume that information, much like he had consumed the custard. Greg was fairly sure that the bowl had damn near been licked clean, but he couldn't tell, as it had already been discarded on the other side of the sofa. He turned his attention back to the telly just as something else was mauled by a - good God, what the hell was that? Oh, a killer whale. Nasty creatures. John winced again, and Greg passed over the clicker, waiting until John's attention was totally absorbed in flipping through the channels before reaching for his tea, turning the little knob in his left hand as he did so.  
   
There was a quiet gasp, and John squirmed in his seat. Greg left it there for the moment, the absolute lowest possible setting. John made a pleased little noise, and stopped channel cruising on an old Bond film. Sean Connery, his absolute favourite. Oh dear, this was just going to be too easy. A vibe in his behind and Bond on the screen - no, Greg wouldn't have to wait too long at all. He glanced sideways and almost smirked at the set of John's jaw. Little bastard was attempting to strengthen his resolve. We'll just see about that.  
   
A minute twitch of his fingers, dialing up to '2' and holding it for ten seconds before dialing it back down. John held his body rigid, only a quick flicker of his tongue over his bottom lip betraying him. _Hm_. Greg took a draught of his tea, blinking slowly. He took his time drinking it all down, eyes fixed to the telly. He glanced at Sherlock again as he placed his empty mug on the coffee table, but he was still utterly absorbed in his research. Greg stretched his arm along the sofa behind John, dropping his hand on his shoulder. John looked up at him with deep suspicion.   
   
"I wish I knew if he was actually getting anything out of this. Do you think he'll just delete it all once he's done?"   
   
John leaned forward slightly to watch Sherlock for a bit. "Who knows with him, love?" Greg took the opportunity to put his arm around John and pull him into the shelter of his body as he shrugged noncommittally. He pressed his lips to John's temple and dialled up to '3', holding it for a couple of heartbeats, and then going back down to '2'. John made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Greg chuckled low.  
   
"You are _so_ mine, John Watson." John pinched his thigh viciously, but then soothed his hand over the spot absentmindedly. Oh, yes. When he started to get handsy, that's when Greg knew that the battle was half-won. He began to draw lazy circles on John's arm with his free hand. John shivered and nestled in even closer, running his fingers along Greg's leg. Greg waited until a particularly exciting scene in the movie was in full sway, John leaning ever so slightly into the telly, before dialling it to '3' and leaving it there. John bit his lip and rolled his hips minutely. Greg could feel his leg trembling where it was pressed up next to his.   
   
He chuckled again as he tilted his mouth down to John's ear. He blew a hot breath across his skin before licking around the edge delicately. John moaned low. "What do you want, John? Do you want me to fuck you, maybe take you up against the wall? Been awhile since we've done that... Or do you want to fuck me, down on my hands and knees? Maybe you want to fuck Sherlock, huh? Watch that beautiful pale body shudder and shake as he rides you? God, that would be _gorgeous_."  
   
John bit back another moan as his body shivered against Greg. He glanced at Sherlock, who had thus far remained completely oblivious. A quick spike to '4' and then back down to '2' before back to '3'. "Sher - _Jesus_. He's busy. Mm." John's right hand clutched at the fabric of his pyjama bottoms. "Again, do that _again_..." His left hand slid up Greg's thigh and then between, tickling along his bollocks.  
   
"Mm." Greg nuzzled into his neck and bypassed '4' completely, going straight to '5' for a count of 10 and dropping it back down slowly. John panted and rolled his hips, his erection quite obvious, his pyjama bottoms becoming damp with pre-come. "Oh, I do love this. Maybe I'll make you come without even touching you, love. Would you like that? Of course, then you'd just have to bend over for me, wouldn't you?"  
   
John glared briefly. "I wouldn't have to _anything_ , Gregory." Greg grinned and spiked it again, up to '7'. John twitched and panted. "But that doesn't mean I - fuck - wouldn't want to." Back down to '5'. _"_ Jesus Christ."  
   
"Tell me what you want, John." Steady at '6'. "I can make it happen for you. Whatever you desire, my love." Slow, a slow and gentle increase all the way up, to '10', holding it for just a moment and working it back down, stopping at '7'.

John started rocking in his seat, teeth set firmly in his lower lip. He made a desperate little keening noise in the back of his throat. "I - oh _ngh_ Jesus fuck - Christ you are a right - oh _God_ \- fucking _bastard_ of a man Greg (up to '8', steady, steady...) and I can't even - fuck! - can't even tell you because - oh _Jesus_  - I just need to come now right fucking now."

He started to put action to his words, his hand coming up to dip into the waistband of his pants. Greg swiftly dialled it all the way up and then brought it down again, making John twitch violently. "Climb up, love." John moaned and straddled Greg's lap in one swift motion. Greg continued to twist the dial, up, down, up, down as he pulled at John's damp pyjama bottoms with one hand.

John snarled and yanked his pants down roughly, sighing with relief as Greg took him in hand. He pressed in close, attacking Greg's mouth, moaning with every thrust into his hand. "Fuck, _yes_. Oh God, _Greg_. More."

Greg obliged, twisting the dial all the way up and leaving it there. He latched onto John's neck as he threw his head back, biting down hard. "That's it, John. Fuck yourself on that pretty little toy, come for me. Love to see you come, love to feel it."

"Gre - I, oh fuck, _fuck_ \- yes, fuck _yessss_..." Greg smiled as John shuddered and came, hot semen spurting over his hand and splashing on his t-shirt. John rode his way through it, thrusting slowly into Greg's hand as he gradually dialled the toy all the way down. John's hips continued to roll, his eyes shut in ecstasy, his body clenching down hard. Finally he sighed deeply and let his body relax, sinking his head down on Greg's shoulder. Greg turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to John's temple.

The men both jumped slightly at Sherlock's baritone chuckle. "Well done, Greg. I really thought he'd be able to hold out longer than that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is made aware of the new - situation - at 221B...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to post again so soon, but this popped out of my head and I rather like it, so there you go. A bit shortish, perhaps, but I do expect to have another for you all next week. Hopefully. :)
> 
> In the meantime, I do hope you're all having a lovely New Year and all that rigamarole. 
> 
> Please comment - it gives me the will to keep writing!

A quiet knock on an office door. "Enter."

A nameless flunky came into the office and passed over a manila folder. "Some new information regarding your, um, priority case, sir. I do think you'll find it rather interesting." Mycroft simply lifted one elegant brow, grey eyes glinting dangerously. "Ah, right. Sorry sir. I'll just - " He quickly exited, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Mycroft sighed and flipped open the folder. There were a number of surveillance photos tucked inside, showing the outer door of 221B Baker Street. The first was Sherlock hailing a cab, with Detective Inspector Lestrade close behind. Not necessarily anything unusual there. The next was a Lestrade's car pulling up, and the one after that showed Sherlock and Lestrade once again entering 221B laden with - with... luggage?

He flipped through the next couple of photos, close-ups of their faces. Sherlock just looked purposeful, but that was his default expression, really. Lestrade looked - well, Lestrade looked incredibly handsome, but that was nothing new. There was something else in his eyes, though. Mycroft blinked. Happiness. He looked - happy. That expression, the luggage that was clearly his, and obviously full from the way Sherlock was holding it...

"Oh, Sherlock, you _impetuous_ boy." Mycroft allowed himself a small smile. Finally. They had finally admitted their feelings for one another, and Sherlock had immediately asked, well, more likely had assumed, that Gregory would move in. And it seemed that he had agreed. He didn't know how all three men would manage in such a space, but Mycroft had faith that they would work it out somehow. Time, he must give them time. But how much? He himself had waited nearly as long as Sherlock, and to have the culmination of his desires so close... Three months, he could give them three months. In the meantime...

Mycroft opened a desk drawer and removed his laptop, quickly powering it up. He absently chewed on a thumbnail while he debated, and then gave in with only a momentary twinge of shame. He opened a program, went through the frankly ridiculous number of security precautions, and then his screen lit up with a view of the interior of 221B. Four individual cameras, the first in the stairway facing the front door, the second in the kitchen, the third in the sitting room, and the last in John's room. He made a note to himself to have that one removed - it had been put in just after John had moved in, before he had proved himself to Mycroft's satisfaction. It really wasn't necessary any longer. 

But then... He noted movement in the sitting room and maximised that view. _Oh_. Oh, my. The three men were sitting on the sofa together, Sherlock clad only in his pants, seemingly absorbed in the laptop on his knees, although Mycroft could tell that his attention was entirely focused on the two men next to him. Gregory was manipulating a small device in his left hand as John rocked in his seat to his right. As Mycroft watched, John suddenly clambered into Greg's lap and started moving earnestly, pausing only to shimmy his pants down. Mycroft watched earnestly as Gregory reached between them, and then oh good _Lord_ , John's tight bottom flexing and straining around a bright purple - something - and oh _yes_ , coming, coming hard and long.

Mycroft blinked rapidly and put a hand to his mouth. _Well then._ He watched, dry-mouthed, as Sherlock put aside the laptop and turned to the entangled men. Gregory pulled off his t-shirt and used it to wipe John down before casually tossing it on the floor. John stood and Mycroft smiled faintly to see his balance waver slightly. He pulled a face before completely stripping down and then bending over to pick up the shed clothing. Mycroft felt his face burn as he received an eyeful of the toy that John had clenched between his cheeks. Then he disappeared down the hallway, no doubt to relieve himself of the soiled clothing and perhaps of the, um - well.

Sherlock slowly sank to his knees in between Gregory's spread thighs, and Mycroft once again felt his face burning. He shouldn't, he really, really shouldn't - but... As he watched, Gregory fisted one hand tight into Sherlock's curls, and wrapped the other hand around his throat. He tipped the younger man's head back - forcefully, yes, but not roughly, no, not at all. Oh, Gregory was just as he had envisioned him on all those many long, lonely nights. Dominant, _oh yes_ , but not cruel, not greedy. Gregory held Sherlock completely immobile as he stood, and nodded down at him. Sherlock's hands came up slowly to pull down Gregory's pyjamas and pants, and there he was in all his glory, lovely and thick and oh-so- _ready_. Mycroft's mouth flooded with saliva as he looked at Gregory's cock, and it obviously had the same effect on his younger brother, as he swallowed quite visibly.

Gregory bit his bottom lip as he released his grip on Sherlock's throat, the hand in his hair tightening just a fraction more as he brought Sherlock's head closer into his body. Mycroft's hand seemingly acted of its own accord, as he was still staring blankly when the laptop slammed shut quickly. He blew out a quick breath and then another, blinking rapidly. He stood and made his way to the en suite swiftly, closing and locking the door behind him securely. Once tucked away, Mycroft did not hesitate to simply pull himself out of his zip, out of the flap of his boxers, too impatient and far too overcome with lust to bother with his belt or buttons or any of that other nonsense. He wanked to completion with the aid of some stupidly expensive hand lotion, his breath coming in short, hot bursts from his nose as he came, biting his bottom lip rather viciously as he released into his hand and oh, on the sink and well shit, on the floor as well.

God, oh good _God_. There was no way he was going to last three months if he kept watching scenes like that. _'Control, Mycroft.'_ If there was one thing that he was stupidly good at, it was self-control. Right? Not that it had been tested in this manner before, tested against the unknowing wiles of a certain Detective Inspector. Mycroft trembled as he wiped everything down and washed his hands thoroughly. He had imagined, yes, but he was beginning to realise that his imagination had been somewhat lacking. That beautiful prick, _my God_. Now that he had seen it... Control, Mycroft. Yes. _Control_.

Mycroft glanced at his watch as he left the bathroom. Nearly eleven. Time to go home, to the cold empty rooms and echoing hallways of his townhouse. He eyed the laptop on his desk, the power indicator blinking at him innocently. Of course, since he had access, it would be rather irresponsible of him not to make sure that Sherlock was safe, wouldn't it? Yes, he should make sure that all proper - precautions - were being taken. That there was no hint of coercion. Yes, of course. After all, Sherlock's safety was paramount, wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More quality time in front of the telly... Mostly.

Greg grinned as John sighed exasperatedly. Sherlock smirked and took the small remote from Greg's hand as he set the laptop aside.

"Fascinating." John glared as Greg shed his dirty tee and used it to wipe him down.

He stood and made a face at his own debauched state. "Don't you _dare_ , Sherlock Holmes." John stripped down quickly and retrieved the pile of clothing, heading for the bedroom. He snatched the purple device out of Sherlock's hand along the way.

Sherlock smiled and slowly sank to his knees between Greg's thighs. He leant in for a heated kiss as Greg's hands came up to caress his face. He moaned low as one travelled to the back of his head, strong fingers twining into his curls and holding fast. The other slid down to cover his throat, applying just a bit of pressure. Just enough to make Sherlock gasp and moan as his head was inexorably tipped backward.

Greg held his head steady as he stood, towering over the younger man. Sherlock's quicksilver eyes watched his face carefully, waiting for that tiny little nod. Greg gave it, and shivered as those long white fingers came up to tug at his clothing. Sherlock sighed against Greg's hard flesh as his cock bounced free. He licked his plush lips and swallowed. Greg could see Sherlock's body responding to him, the blown-wide pupils, the flush to his skin, even the minute dribble of drool that was escaping his mouth.

No, Greg didn't understand it, but it was clear that Sherlock did indeed find him tasty. And who was he to deny anyone a treat that they so clearly desired? He moved the hand that was gripping Sherlock's fine long throat to his shoulder and tightened the hand that was fisted in his curls, earning another breathy moan. He directed Sherlock's head closer, but that was unnecessary, as Sherlock eagerly opened his mouth and willingly sucked Greg's cock in deep.

Greg threw back his head and moaned just as John came back into the sitting room, wearing only his fuzzy striped dressing gown. He watched for a few moments, tongue flickering nimbly over his bottom lip. " _Mm_. Love, that is _beautiful_." He came to stand by the two men, pulling Greg's face down for a kiss as he rocked in and out of Sherlock's mouth. "But is it going to be enough? There was quite a bit of whispering about fucking when you were messing me about..."

Greg's hand released its grip and Sherlock let him slip out of his mouth. He looked up at him from under dark lashes. "You want to fuck me, Greg?" Sherlock's dark voice made both Greg and John shiver. "Because I would be rather amenable." Sherlock stood in one smooth motion, reaching out one long finger to trace the veins standing out on Greg's cock. "More than amenable, actually. I'd love nothing more than to feel you inside me again."

One corner of Greg's mouth turned up slightly, and Sherlock shivered as Greg's eyes flickered over his face, down his body. He continued to stroke Greg's cock lightly with one finger, until his hand was knocked away. A look, one simple look that said, _'keep quiet, keep still'_. Sherlock, quite to his own surprise, could only obey, hands dropping to his sides, mouth parted to let only breath and no words pass. Once more, strong, rough fingers wrapped around his throat gently, fingers digging into the marks on his pale flesh, pressing down, down - reminding Sherlock of their presence. Reminding him of who he belonged to.

As if he needed any reminder, with this man, this veritable force of nature standing so close. So close that the heat of him radiated over Sherlock's skin in a wave, his fingers pulsing against the flow of blood in his neck. Sherlock fought to keep himself still, as his body was seemingly magnetically pulled toward Greg. God, he _yearned_ for this man, body and soul. Ridiculous that he had been wilfully blind to it for all these long years. _'Sherlock, you **idiot** '_.

Greg tilted his head and watched all of this flicker over Sherlock's features, the doubt, the uncertainty in his own head being neatly whisked away as that divine alien face settled into an expression of pure need. Not just want or lust, but _need_. That if Greg didn't have him right then and there, Sherlock may just curl himself into a little ball and perish on the spot. Greg could _see_ it now, knew that he was in Sherlock's blood just as deeply as he was in his.

His smile grew into something sharp and predatory and Sherlock moaned, his cock twitching and straining in his pants. A swift look at John, and Greg put out a foot to push at the coffee table. John quickly shoved it out of the way and took a moment to tug Sherlock's pants to his ankles. Greg shifted slightly, pushing Sherlock toward the sofa. With only his hands as guides, not speaking at all, he had him kneel on the edge, thighs spread, grasping the back securely. A light touch at his shoulders, running down his back, swiftly turning into eight lines of delicious fire snaking across his skin as Greg dug in his fingernails. Sherlock gasped and arched into his touch. 

A pleased hum and nothing more as the touch left the small of his back and went to the backs of his thighs. Then fingernails running up and along the sensitive skin, dipping in between, caressing, pinching, scratching. More gasping and arching, writhing back to feel more, just more. All of it, as long as there was _more_. Sherlock's head fell forward as he felt those strong fingers tracing delicate circles on his arse-cheeks, and oh _yes_ , was that Greg's breath ghosting across his inflamed skin? 

A quiet chuckle, and Sherlock saw John move in his peripheral vision from where he had been standing, utterly transfixed. Hm.

"Sherlock! That's mine!" Another gasp as the prize that Sherlock had clenched between his cheeks was removed rather abruptly. 

He recoiled slightly as John knelt on the sofa next to him and shoved it into his face. "Was yours." 

"You don't just take things like this, you sodding _bastard_." 

Sherlock's body tensed slightly as he heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper being ripped open. "Why not? It's not like you've been using it."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. That's a beginner's toy, John. Much too small for a man of your - experience." Oh God, the click of the lid on the bottle of lube. "Especially after taking up with Greg. He's much too - oh God _yes_ \- much too - fuck - thick for that particular toy to bring you any - _ngh fucking hell **yes**_ \- pleasure any more." Sherlock bit his lip and groaned as Greg finally sank in balls-deep. He panted and turned his head slightly, catching just the edge of John's grin before he managed to make it vanish. "Besides, it seems to have made our dear Detective Inspector rather - happy."

That, John could not deny, as he watched Greg's eyes close in bliss and heard a soft sigh pass through his lips. "Fine. We'll start you a shoebox of your own, shall we? Congratulations on pilfering your first sex toy."

Sherlock smirked, eyes rolling back in pleasure as Greg began to move gently behind him. "There are at least two other - toys in that box - that -  _oh God_ \- that meet the same criteria as the one in your hand. And three - _Jesus Christ_ \- that seem to be no longer functional. I believe I have devised an - _oh, oh my_ - experiment..."

John shook his head. "The other beginner's toys will go in your box, I'll make sure that the others just don't need new batteries before you start dismantling anything. I have been meaning to go through them and get rid of the ones that aren't so exciting any more." Sherlock opened his mouth and John glared. "The purple one is _mine_ , Sherlock. You touch that, you'll face my wrath. And Greg's."

Sherlock cried out as Greg emphasised John's point with a deep, strong thrust. "Oh God, _Greg_ \- more!"

John sat back on his heels and watched Greg's hand clamp down over Sherlock's mouth as he continued to fuck him quite relentlessly. He let the desecrated toy slip from his fingers and fall to the floor. _Jesus_. This aspect of the man he loved, this strong commanding presence... Good _God_ , it was something that nearly sent John round the bend every time, and he'd never seen it like this, from the outside. During all of their sessions with Edward, it was Greg on his knees, or on his back. He'd had yet to watch as Greg simply took what he wanted, what he needed. Obviously, John had often been the one giving while Greg was taking, but this - this was _astonishing_.

John let his eyes wander and travel and trip over the contours of Greg's body, the muscles in his solid thighs and arse flexing and straining and oh-so- _beautiful_. His strong arms, holding tight to bony hip and plush mouth, giving no quarter at all. Keeping Sherlock nearly immobile as he thrust hard and deep and fast. _God_ , John wanted to lick every last drop of sweat from his body, wanted to drop to his knees and open his arms and his mouth and just let Greg _take_ , take everything while he gave all he had and more.

Greg snarled quietly, his fierce dark eyes locked onto John's. He didn't think, didn't breathe until he was standing by his side, going up on his toes to give him access, to his mouth, to his neck, John's hands clutching at Greg's shoulder and waist as his impossibly white teeth bit down on John's flesh wherever he could easily reach. His nose running along John's jawline, marking him, scenting him. Greg's eyes, hot and hard and claiming him without speaking a word. Mine, mine - all _mine_. John nodded briefly, attempting to demonstrate without words of his own. Yes, _yours_. All of it, yours. Oh _God_ , that grin, that delicious sharp grin.

Both men's eyes cut to Sherlock's lean back as a muffled curse broke through Greg's fingers. The younger man was attempting to brace with one hand and take himself in the other, but Greg's motions were too forceful and he couldn't quite manage. Greg grunted slightly and bent forward, wrapping his arm diagonally around waist and chest before pulling Sherlock mostly upright. He kept the other hand firmly clamped over his mouth, however. A quick nod to John, and the smaller man was on his knees at Sherlock's side again, bending down to take him in his mouth. The angle was a bit awkward, but the groan of relief that resounded through the body that was wedged between the two men was palpable.

And then it was not long, no, not long at all before Sherlock's body shuddered and shook and John was swallowing his release down greedily and Greg finally broke his silence with a long drawn-out breathy moan, clutching Sherlock's limp body to him tight, oh-so-tightly. He slowly released Sherlock's mouth, wrapping both arms around the younger man, holding him up as his head lolled back. Greg shuddered and sighed, resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder for a moment as they both regained breath.

John sat and watched as they recovered, licking the last drips of Sherlock's come from his lips. Finally, Greg withdrew, smiling faintly as Sherlock hissed in discomfort. He disappeared down the hallway and returned clad in his own dressing gown, bearing a damp flannel and a large glass of water. He handed the flannel to Sherlock and the water to John before settling down on the other end of the sofa.

Sherlock made a face and wiped himself down perfunctorily, dropping the soiled flannel into the empty custard bowl. He shifted through the clothing scattered about, finding and donning his pants. Then he stretched out on the sofa between his lovers, head on Greg's lap and feet in John's. He surprised himself by yawning hugely.

Greg chuckled. "I think baby's about ready for bed, love." 

Sherlock scowled up at him. "I still have - _ah ah ahhhh _\- dammit - I still have research to do, Greg." The second and third yawns were even larger than the first.

"Nobody's saying you can't do it in the morning, sweetheart. Or whenever you decide to get up. You just had quite the bout of physical exertion, it's no wonder your body wants to shut down for a bit."

"I was used, John. Horribly and _delightfully_ used. But that is no excuse for my body to choose to make itself unavailable to transport my mind. There is work to be done!" Another yawn, this time with drifting eyelids. Greg chuckled again and started working his fingers through Sherlock's curls. His quicksilver eyes flashed open. "Stop that at once! It's too - too - _ah fuck_..." Eyes firmly shut, Sherlock began to snore softly.

John looked at Greg, his dark eyes gentle, no longer fierce and hungry. He reached a hand out over Sherlock's prone form, smiling as Greg took it without hesitation. "Well done, love."

Greg smiled in return and gave his hand a squeeze before yawning himself. "Thank you, my love. Now." He glanced down. "How do we get him and ourselves into bed in one piece?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant morning in... Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* Just some more of my boys being fluffy and filthy... :)
> 
> Please do let me know how I'm doing. I'm feeling rather 'tortured artist' at the moment, so a bit of encouragement would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Or if you think something's missing, or needs to be addressed, please let me know that as well. 
> 
> Thank you so much for coming this far with me...

John looked over the wreckage of the sitting room with a heavy sigh. One corner of Greg's mouth turned up slightly. All of his time in the Army had only encouraged John's natural tendency toward tidiness, and Greg knew that leaving things in such a state was undoubtedly distressing for him.  
   
"It'll keep, love. I'll help you straighten up tomorrow. If either of us tried to do it now, we'd just end up falling over each other."  
   
John attempted to stifle a huge yawn. "I guess you're right. Bugger." He slid out from under Sherlock's legs and helped Greg wrestle him into a sitting position, and from there, onto his feet.  
   
They managed to get the surprisingly somnambulant body down the hallway with a minimum of fuss, gently laying Sherlock down on one side of the bed. Greg shed his dressing gown, and tucked his naked self into the gentle curl of Sherlock's lanky body. John quickly followed, acting as the final slice of bread in their odd sandwich. With Greg's arm snug around his waist, John hummed contentedly.  
   
The hair on the back of his head ruffled slightly as Greg huffed out a quiet laugh. "We're definitely going to need a bigger bed." A wordless agreement from the unconscious consulting detective, as he snorted and threw one long leg over the both of them. "Mm..."

                   **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********  
      
Greg woke to a gentle motion, opening his eyes to catch sight of John sliding out of bed, obviously heading toward the loo. Without turning his head, Greg knew the other side of the bed to be empty. He shifted to his feet and stood just as John came stumbling back into the bedroom. They reached out to each other, fingers drifting along arms and back as Greg went to take his turn in the toilet.

He came back to find John on his back, idly stroking his cock. Greg stood there for a while, blinking the sleep from his eyes and drinking in the little show. John opened his eyes and smiled up at Greg wickedly before crooking a finger and beckoning him closer. Never one to turn down such an invitation, Greg slid right back into the bed at his side, letting one hand wander up John's thigh to tickle at his bollocks.  
   
John stretched and moaned, spreading his thighs to give him easier access. Greg kept his touch light as he let his hand wander, tripping and tickling up John's belly and sides, to his chest and then to his face, pulling him in close for a deep kiss. John moaned again, releasing himself as he rolled to press his entire body against Greg's, rutting gently.  
   
He brought his hands up to caress Greg's face, running his fingers along his lips lightly. Greg suddenly inhaled deeply and moaned, grasping at the hand that John had been fondling himself with. John felt his body give one solid jerk as Greg buried his nose in the palm of his hand. He nuzzled and inhaled again before sticking out his tongue to lick a long wet stripe from John's wrist to the tips of his fingers, sucking on them eagerly.

"God, _John_. The smell of you. The taste of you. Do you even know what you do to me?"

John stared, his mouth hanging slackly, his slate-blue eyes gone completely black. " _Guh_." John pulled Greg into a hard kiss, his tongue fighting with his own fingers to gain access to his lover's hot mouth.

There was a dark chuckle from the foot of the bed. "I do believe that he is getting an idea, Greg."

The men broke away from their kiss, smiling to see Sherlock standing there, watching them intently. Greg winked as John turned his attention back to him, burying his nose into the hot flesh of his throat. "Why don't you shed those pants and come join us?"

Sherlock smiled sharply and folded his hands behind his back. "In a moment, perhaps."

" _Mm_." Greg turned back to John, carding his fingers through his tawny hair and tilting his head back for another thorough snog. They continued to roll their hips, moaning as their cocks slid against each other, not quite getting the friction they needed, but neither really caring all that much. They just wanted to feel, to kiss. To touch and to love, in the middle of Sherlock's bed, under their mutual lover's intense gaze.

They had almost forgotten about him by the time hands started wandering lower, fingers roaming to caress bollocks and stiff pricks. Greg and John were suddenly startled out of their little bubble when there was another low, dark chuckle, and long fingers wrapping around their wrists, pulling their hands away. Both men blinked and leaned apart slightly, mouths red and bite-swollen, eyes dark and heavy. Sherlock chuckled again and knelt over their entangled legs.

"Do carry on. I'll just - ah - handle these for you." He ran his hands up both men's thighs, gripping their hips and pulling them away from each other, giving him room. Then he wrapped a hand around each of them, lowering his head to flick his tongue over the head of Greg's cock, and then John's. Sherlock stroked them each slowly, gently.

Greg groaned and John hissed out a short breath as Sherlock alternated his mouth between the two of them. It wasn't long before both men were reduced to mindless noises and motions, simply clinging to one another as Sherlock licked and nibbled and stroked them both.

After a particularly strong pull Greg moaned and cursed, reaching out to tug at Sherlock's curls. "Baby, _please_. Oh good fucking _God_ , please." Sherlock hummed and threw a glance up at John, who nodded with a small smile. Sherlock growled as he released John and focused all of his attention on Greg, rolling him so he was flat on the bed.

Greg's back arched as Sherlock licked from bollocks to the tip of his cock, gracing him with a predatory grin before simply swallowing him down. John shifted to his knees at Greg's side, eyes flickering from Sherlock's curly head bobbing slowly to Greg's face, lost in bliss. John fisted himself lightly, not wanting to lose control just yet.   
   
Greg's eyes fluttered open, fixing on John's face. "What would you like, John? Want me to suck you? Or maybe you want my hand - rubbing you, maybe my fingers up your arse? Tell me, love."  
   
John moaned and abruptly reached across Greg's body for the bottle of lube that was on the bedside table. "Fingers. God _yes_ , stuff your fingers in me." He bent down for a swift and filthy kiss before laying flat on his back, presenting and opening himself up for Greg's attentions, throwing one leg over his belly.  
   
Greg grinned even as he gasped aloud at something that Sherlock did at that moment. He grabbed the lube and squirted a little out over John's cock before coating his fingers. Figuring that the time for sweet and gentle was over, he didn't hesitate to simply slide in one, and then two fingers in swift succession. Greg's grin sharpened as John vocalised his pleasure and started rocking against his hand intensely.  
   
"Fuck, _yes_. Greg - more. Gimme another."  
   
"Just hold on - ah, fuck - _Sherlock_ oh Jesus, _fuck_..." Greg took a moment to pant before giving John what he was demanding, slipping in a third finger, crooking them slightly. He let John do most of the work, keeping relatively still as his lover fucked himself hard and fast on his fingers. He watched intently for as long as he could, finally giving himself over to the sensation of Sherlock tugging and licking and sucking until he couldn't hold back any more.  
   
Greg's free hand clutched at Sherlock's head as he came, his eyes rolling back and body twitching as he overloaded on pleasure. He was only dimly aware of John's arse shuddering and clenching down on his fingers as he came as well, semen striping his golden, taut belly in long white splatters. John continued to roll his hips gently, milking his orgasm for as long as possible.  
   
Sherlock hummed as he let Greg slip out of his mouth, quicksilver eyes glinting as he turned his head to watch John riding out the last of his tremors. Greg shifted slightly underneath him, and Sherlock reached up to run his fingertips down the length of his body. "Beautiful. The two of you together - it's _stunning_."  
   
John hummed and then hissed slightly as Greg removed his hand. Greg raised himself up on his elbows and smiled at John's utterly debauched state. He winked down at Sherlock. "Now you, baby. Tell me what you want."  
   
Sherlock shook his head slightly. "That was what I wanted. To see you both come."  
   
"Mm. And that's all?" Greg's voice was low and dark, and Sherlock shivered at the sound of it. John opened his eyes and smiled wickedly, knowing what was to come. Greg sat up slowly, shifting John's leg from his lap to the bed. "Sure you don't want more? Sure you don't want to rub on John there? Poor lad can barely move - he'd just have to _take_ it, wouldn't he? Maybe wank over his defenceless body, add to the glorious mess on that delicious belly of his. I'd say that you could fuck him, but he tends to be a bit sensitive after he comes. Not me, though. You want to fuck me, Sherlock?"  
   
Greg spread his knees slightly, invitingly. "You could lay me back and fuck me into the mattress, or I could go onto my hands and knees for you." Greg's dark eyes glinted as Sherlock started to palm himself, working his hand up his length unconsciously. "Or maybe you don't want to do any work. Let John and me suck you off together. Both of our mouths on you, maybe fingers inside you too. Or that toy that you stole yesterday. Oh, yes. I'm sure John would _love_ to make you work for that toy, baby. Show you how it's really done."  
   
Sherlock moaned as Greg shifted to his knees in front of him. He ran his fingers up Sherlock's sides, leaning in for a quick nibble on one of the vibrant  lovebites that he had inflicted the day before. " _Tell me_ , baby. Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."  
   
"Oh _God_." Sherlock crushed his mouth to Greg's desperately, pressing in close. Greg hummed against Sherlock's tongue as it invaded his mouth. He reached out and added his hand to the one  fisting Sherlock's cock. They quickly fell into a syncopated rhythm, Sherlock squeezing his shaft and Greg concentrating on the head of his cock, rubbing and twisting gently.  
   
There was a slight motion in the bed, and John joined them, leaning up to press his lips close to Sherlock's ear. "You didn't tell him, love." He punctuated every word with a tiny lick, a little nibble, all along ear and jawline and long white neck. "Tell Greg what you want."

Sherlock gasped and moaned as John's hand wandered low, reaching down and between to tug at his bollocks, rubbing against his perineum. "I want - oh fucking _hell_ \- I want - everything. Jesus. I want tongues and mouths and fingers and toys and cocks, Jesus _yes_ , in me and on me. I want to fuck and be fucked and - Christ - I want Greg to take me apart and for you to put me back together, John. I want to go out wearing your marks and I want to rub your come on my skin - oh _fuck_ \- so I smell like the both of you. The two of you together, Jesus _Christ_ , the smell of your sex overwhelms my brain, it makes me stupid. I want to be fucking _stupid_ for you..."

Greg growled incoherently and bit down hard on Sherlock's clavicle as the younger man's hips stuttered erratically, the beginnings of his orgasm ripping through him. Sherlock gasped and Greg growled again in pleasure as he felt the hot spurts of come oozing over his hand and splashing on his belly.

Sherlock took in a great breath and let it out with a little whine, resting his forehead against Greg's. "God oh _God_. I want it all, I want you both so much and I'm so afraid that I'm going to want too much and I'm going to drive you away because you only have so much to give and I'm always going to want more. More, more, all the time, just _more_."

There was a moment of utter stillness and silence, all three men holding their breath before letting it out in a rush. Greg chuckled quietly, running his nose along Sherlock's jaw before pressing a gentle and chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Guess it's a good thing there's two of us, huh?" He pulled back slightly. "We'll always have more to give."

John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist. "We know what we're getting into, love."

Sherlock blinked rapidly and sat back on his heels, pulling away from his lovers. A small and rather wavery smile bloomed over his lips and he blushed faintly. "Um. All right, then. That's, um... _Good_. Yes." He stood, looking a bit dazed as he reached for the dressing gown on the back of the door. "I'm just going to attend to - _um_." Slipping the garment on as he passed through the door, he stopped and turned, his smile a bit stronger. "You two should probably shower. You're a bit mucky."

John giggled and Greg laughed outright. "Not to mention that our smell is making you stupid..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well yes, there is that as well." He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Greg and John to fold into each other and collapse on the bed with helpless giggles.

After they had recovered somewhat, Greg sat bolt upright with a quiet shout, suddenly realising that he had yet to phone in to the office. John chuckled at him and went to start the shower up as he called in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day doesn't really go the way Greg had hoped...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno - I think this just might be quite a bit of nonsense, but for some reason I felt I needed to include it. 
> 
> *shrug*
> 
> There will be more smut to follow, of course... ;-p
> 
> Love you all - thanks for keeping up with me!

John and Greg took their time in the shower, trading gentle kisses, constantly reaching out just to touch, as if to reassure themselves that they were here, that it was real. Greg had a fleeting pang of guilt, leaving Sherlock out of this tiny bubble, but he quickly realised that he had left them alone together on purpose. Sherlock seemed to instinctively recognise that if this whole thing was going to work out, they'd need time to be alone, to be two, to be three. If it were three all the time, something would get lost.  
   
Another soft kiss on the top of John's head and Greg stepped out of the shower to dry himself off, pausing in front of the mirror. He swiped a hand over his stubble and considered. Typically, he didn't bother with shaving on the weekends, and even though it was Monday, he wasn't planning on going out, so... _Nah_. Or so he thought, until John gently took his arm and directed him toward the closed toilet, pushing him down to sit.  
   
He took up the can of shaving foam and smiled. "I've wanted to do this for a while."  
   
Greg's brow quirked. "Why didn't you say? I would have let you."  
   
John shrugged. "Seemed a bit - domestic." He carefully lathered Greg's face and reached for the razor.  
   
Greg fought to keep his face set in a neutral expression, wanting to break out into a wide grin as John's tongue peeked out of his mouth and his brow crinkled in concentration. He cut his eyes to Sherlock, looming quietly in the doorway, a gentle smile curling his lips. Greg closed his eyes as John tilted his head back with one finger under his chin, just feeling the light but sure strokes as John worked on him.  
   
"Whaddya think, Sherlock?"  
   
A quiet and deep hum, long fingers tilting his head to the left. "Missed a spot here." A quick swipe with the blade, and then a warm cloth wiping away all traces of the foam.  
   
Greg opened his eyes and smiled at the faces of both of his lovers looking down at him intently. He raised a hand to his cheek and rubbed. "Smooth." He pulled John down for a kiss. "Thank you, love. We just might have to make that a part of our daily routine..."  
   
Sherlock rolled his eyes and John laughed. "If that's the case, you'd have to get your arse out of bed much earlier. Especially if we were to add showering together."  
   
"Hrm." Greg considered. "Okay, so maybe we make it a Sunday thing." This time, Sherlock joined in as John started to giggle.  
   
John hauled Greg to his feet and started to usher both him and Sherlock out of the bathroom. "Get dressed. We have to go out."  
   
Greg pouted. "The whole point of today is to not go out, John. It's to stay in and have lots and _lots_ of sex."   
   
John shivered and then glared at Greg's sudden grin. "I know that's what you intended, love, but I would like to at least make it out to the clinic, get some blood to send off." He paused by the bedside table, reaching inside to pull out a nearly-empty box of condoms. "And we'll need more of these. At least until those tests come back, right?"   
   
Greg turned to share a look with Sherlock, but the younger man was already rooting through his wardrobe, pulling out trousers and a shirt. Greg sighed heavily. "Fine." He tossed aside his towel and snagged a clean pair of pants from his luggage. "Hm. Might not hurt to get a bit settled, too. My suits are already wrinkled enough."  
   
Sherlock pulled a face at the untidy pile of Greg's clothing, his nose crinkling adorably. "I've already ordered another wardrobe and some additional equipment for downstairs. Should be arriving later today. Since I'll most likely be spending the majority of my free time in the lab, I can store my clothing down there as well."  
   
Greg blinked at him, his mouth hanging open stupidly as his mind struggled with an argument, but John beat him to it quite handily. "Sherlock, love - we don't want to push you out of your own bedroom. We can fit another wardrobe in here, or Greg can put his things up with mine..."  
   
Sherlock smiled at them. "You aren't pushing me out of anywhere. I've thought it all through, and this is the logical solution. I hardly use this space for its intended purposes anyhow, and besides... Compromise, correct? Is this not what people do when they enter into a shared living situation?"  
   
He turned back to his clothing, leaving John and Greg standing agape. Greg reached out to pull John into a tight embrace, pressing his lips to his forehead. "My God. Holy _hell_ , John. I think this might actually work. Sherlock Holmes, the high-functioning sociopath by his own admission, never been involved with anyone in his entire life, but he knows exactly what to say and to do and I am utterly gobsmacked."  
   
John hummed, gently stroking Greg's bare back. "He means it, too. This isn't something that's he picked up out of some silly novel or self-help book. He absolutely means what he's saying."  
   
Sherlock turned back, quirking an eyebrow. "Of course I do. Where you two are concerned... I will always mean what I say." He started to tuck his shirt into his trousers. "John will bring his things down here, and we can use his old space as storage. Just a bit of shifting, and Greg will be installed right where he belongs. With us, here in Baker Street."  
   
Greg grinned. "So mote it be."   
   
Sherlock tilted his head. "Are you a witch now, too? In addition to being a closet-punky-goth-vampire aficionado?"  
   
Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as Greg cleared his throat. "Not as such..."  
   
John snorted and smacked his arm. "Knock it off, or he'll want to exorcise you. Or something." He pressed a gentle kiss to the arm that he had just abused and turned to head upstairs. "I'm going to get dressed - you do the same. No mucking about."

Greg sighed melodramatically and turned back to his pile of clothing, crouching to rifle through it. "Fine."

When John came back down in jeans and jumper, he found his boys hunched excitedly over Greg's laptop in the kitchen. He cast a quick glance into the sitting room, pleased to see that the mess from last night had been straightened up. As well as could be expected, anyhow.

Greg turned to him with a wild grin. "John, c'mere. Look!" Sherlock smirked as John joined them. "Guess what club has a goth theme one day a month?"

John groaned. "Oh, love... Not clubbing again."

Greg pouted. "Oh, but it's been so long since I've heard anything new, and it's only the one night and I promise that I won't drag you out again if you really don't like it but I really would like to go and Sherlock said that he actually enjoyed most of what he heard last night and wouldn't it be brilliant if we could share something like that and then he said that he had an idea and he got that gleam in his eye, John, that _naughty_ little gleam and good Lord would I love to see what that gleam turns into and _please_ love oh please."

Greg had slowly slid to his knees in front of John during his breathless recitation, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face into his belly. John snorted and then giggled sharply as Greg yanked up on his jumper and started nibbling around his navel. "Fine, fine! Get up, you damn tart!" He sighed as Greg got to his feet, grinning wildly. "Fine. We'll go. But only if you behave yourself today." Sherlock snickered. "You too, you - instigator."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and snapped the laptop shut. "I just thought it might make Greg happy, that's all. And it would give me the opportunity to observe a very interesting subculture that seems to lurk in the city's dark underbelly."

Greg laughed. "You sound like one of my detective novels, baby."

"Yes. I skimmed through a few last night while I was listening to your noise. Perfectly dreadful. No true deductive skills at all, it was all posturing and threatening physical violence to gain questionable confessions. And 'dames' attempting to distract the protagonist with their rather tainted wiles. Ridiculous."

" _Mm_." Greg kissed his cheek. "That's kind of the point, Sherlock. They do things differently in the novels. The basis of the story generally revolves around the flawed but ultimately noble man attempting to bring about justice, not necessarily about the murders themselves." 

The taller man huffed. "It should be about the crime, about solving the puzzle. That's the only thing that matters."

"Bloody hell, you're adorable." Greg wasted no more words, pulling Sherlock down into a swift and heated kiss. Sherlock moaned and clutched at his hips.

John heartlessly shoved his way in between them, feeling that if he didn't intercede, the morning would quickly get away from them. "Enough of that now. We're going out, remember?" He lifted a finger and pointed it at Greg sternly as his lover's face began to shift into another pout. "You've already used up your limit on the puppy-eyes, Gregory. Don't even think about it."

Greg gave him a wink and a cheeky grin instead. "All right, Captain. What's the plan, then?"

"First, food. A proper breakfast." John turned the stern finger on Sherlock as he started to open his mouth to protest. "No. You will eat, Sherlock." The younger man blinked down at the finger poking him in the chest and turned an incredulous look on Greg, who was fighting to hold back his laughter. John pulled away, a small smile threatening to break through. "Food. Then the clinic, where we will all submit to the leech and pee in a cup. Yay." Greg snorted. "Then to the shop, where we will pick up some much-needed provisions. I intend to cook tonight."

"So we're having lasagna, then?"

John glared at Greg briefly. "I do know how to make something other than lasagna." Greg raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. John sighed. "Yes, lasagna. Problem?"

Greg smiled. "No, of course not. You know I love it when you cook for me."

"Can we stop by Angelo's and pick up a tiramisu?" 

John smiled up at Sherlock. "For you, love, we'll get two." He led the way out of the kitchen, picking up his jacket in the sitting room along the way. "C'mon, I'm starving. Let's get going already." With small smiles, John's lovers followed behind meekly.

As usual, Sherlock strode to the edge of the kerb and held up a hand imperiously, but oddly enough, a cab did not immediately materialise. He blinked and looked up and down the street. None to be seen. John took the opportunity to snug up next to Greg and reached for his hand. Greg looked at him and gave a wink as he squeezed gently.

"Y'know, this morning... You gave me what I wanted, and you got Sherlock to tell us what he wanted... What do you want, love?"

Greg looked up as Sherlock took his other hand. "Excellent question, John. Why don't you tell us, Greg?"

He blinked. "I just want whatever you're willing to give."

Sherlock chuckled. "Excellent question, deplorable answer."

John nodded. "Think on it, my love. And when we get back from our excursion, we'll make it happen for you."

Greg blushed just as Sherlock spotted his quarry and once again lifted a demanding hand. They all shuffled into the back of the cab, heading for one of John's favourite cafés. On the way there, John and Sherlock smirked at one another as Greg, tucked up on the flip-down seat across from them, stared out into the middle distance. They both shivered as Greg's eyes suddenly snapped back into the present and a feral grin snaked over his face.

Sherlock leaned forward eagerly. "Tell us."

Greg shook his head slowly. "Later. I'm still working out - details." He let his eyes roam over both of his lovers. "And I kinda want to see you squirm." John's breath caught as Sherlock tossed him a delighted grin. He may as well have been rubbing his hands together in anticipatory glee.

They arrived at the café, and Sherlock led the way in, ordering only eggs. But he dutifully ate whatever else his lovers put on his plate, a slice of bacon here and a piece of fruit there. He also eyed the remainder of Greg's toast lustfully, until he pushed over the last piece with a quiet chuckle. Nearly half the pot of jam was slathered over it before being hoovered up neatly.

Greg pulled a face and looked to John, who was staring aghast. "At least he is eating..."

Sherlock primly wiped his hands on his paper napkin and turned a slightly sticky grin on Greg. "Tell us. Please."

"Nope."

"I'll blow you in the loo..."

Greg let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Still nope." He cast a quick glance at John. "Besides, do you think he'd let us get away with that?"

John shifted uneasily in his seat, casting a somewhat guilty look at Greg. Sherlock's eyes narrowed suddenly. " _Oh._ Oh, my. I think he would let us get away with it, seeing as how your first sexual encounter together was a very similar situation."

"It wasn't a café, it was a pub. And the toilet was clear on the other side of the kitchen, down a quiet hallway. There was much less chance of being overheard." John blushed. "And, well - the anticipation, you understand. I'd been lusting after this damn fool for months. Once he opened his bloody mouth and told me that he felt the same, well... Let's just say that I wasn't exactly capable of rational thought at that moment, okay?"

Greg sighed. "I do love it when I make you lose control, John."

Sherlock leaned forward. "Details. I must know details. Did you use hands or mouths?"

John blushed again and Greg chuckled. "Well, there was a hand involved, but it was actually a proper fuck."

"What? In a dirty pub toilet? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Um, not thinking, as John said. It's not like I tossed him down on the floor, Sherlock. I fucked him up against the wall."

The younger man's mouth dropped open as his eyes went a little glassy. _"O_ _h God."_ John squirmed in his seat as Greg leaned forward.

"Oh, yes. He marched me right into that loo, stripped for me and then turned around and basically ordered me to fuck him. Had supplies all ready and waiting in his jacket, the little tart. And when I went to open him up, I discovered that he was already a bit loose. You know how John likes his toys... God, that first time that I slid into him, it was like Heaven, Sherlock. So hot and nice and tight around me and _Jesus_ , I could feel him trembling he wanted me so bad. So I gave him what he wanted. I sank my teeth into his neck and wrapped my hand around his throat and fucked him until he shook to pieces and then he told me to come for him and I did and good God it was _glorious_."

" _Ngh_." Sherlock's cheeks were nice and pink, and Greg couldn't help but notice that his hand had wandered under the table as he spoke. 

"D'you want to hear what happened when we went back to mine?"

"Oh fucking _hell_."

John swiftly reached out and put his hand over Greg's mouth. "If you do, neither he nor I will be able to walk out of this place under our own power, Gregory. Keep it to yourself until we get back home."

Greg blinked at him and quickly stuck out his tongue. John drew his hand back with a sharp cry. "Look at it this way, love. Now, if Sarah wants a semen sample to go along with the blood and piss, we can certainly provide."

Sherlock recoiled. "Why on earth - "

"She won't need a sample, love. Gregory's just being a pain in the arse. It's one of his rare talents. But speaking of, it's time we were off."

"Um. I may need a - moment."

Greg grinned. "What use is that bloody great coat of yours if it can't hide an impromptu stiffy?"

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine." He stood abruptly, giving Greg an eyeful of a very hard bulge in his trousers before pulling his coat around him like a shroud. "Happy?"

"Oh, yes. Baby, you make me _very_ happy indeed." Greg stood, feeling rather relieved that he had chosen to wear a pair of loose jeans. John sighed and stood as well, surreptitiously adjusting himself before turning and leading the way out of the  café.    

From there to the clinic, where Sarah did a double-take upon seeing Sherlock clinging to Greg's hand. John had to calm her down a bit, reassuring her that they weren't on a case, and that the potential for kidnapping was next to nothing before she would even let them into her office. She squealed in delight upon discovering that the three of them were to be exclusive, and subtly threatened Sherlock with bodily harm if he hurt either John or Greg.

Much to their mutual delight, Sherlock seemed to take the threat seriously, and solemnly vowed to take care of them both to the best of his abilities. She extracted a promise from John as well, that they would continue to be tested regularly to be on the safe side. One by one they went into the exam room, where blood was taken and then one by one they retired to the toilet with a little cup.

"I'll let you know when the results come back. Should be less than a fortnight." She hugged each of them in turn, scoffing at Sherlock's bewildered expression. "I'm so happy for you all."

In walking down the pavement toward the Tesco, they came across a furniture store. Greg tugged them both inside. "We should see about that bed, don't you think?" John shook his head as Sherlock grinned wildly and dragged Greg off in the direction of the mattresses. An hour or so of rolling and bouncing and perhaps some wildly inappropriate rubbing later, their order had been placed and a delivery day set.

All in all, they stumbled back into the flat a solid four hours later, grumbling under the weight of shopping bags and some pent-up tension, since the day had not gone the way Greg had hoped. He had no issue with either vocalising his displeasure or demonstrating exactly what it was he'd rather be doing at that moment with swift gropes and whispered dirty words. 

Sherlock simply dropped his bags where he stood and snugged up to Greg's back, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Greg snarled quietly as Sherlock's plush lips attached themselves to his earlobe and sucked. "Tell us what you want, Greg. _Please_."

John glared. "We need to sort this out first. The ice cream will melt."

"Fucking ice cream. Whose idea was that?" Greg pushed away from Sherlock and thrust his bags into his arms. "You. Go help him put this shit away. Then we'll play."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets caught up with the boys of 221B...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I'm a horrible tease. I don't mean to be, really... This chapter is mostly Mycroft reviewing some of his footage from Baker Street, so there will be mention of things that have happened in previous chapters. But it's from Mycroft's perspective, and does include some of the reasoning behind some of his actions and so on. I suppose you could skip it if you really wanted to, but I still think that there's some good stuff in here. 
> 
> Next chapter is definitely smut, and it's mostly written, so I'm hoping to have it posted early-ish next week...
> 
> Promise. *wink*

Since taking the laptop home with him the previous evening, Mycroft had swiftly scrolled through most of the footage that had been archived. He had begun his review at a point about a month or so after John had moved in, considering that was the last time he had watched any of this footage. The camera had been installed shortly after John's arrival at Baker Street, all in the interest of protecting Sherlock, of course.

Mycroft had been keenly interested to discover that Sherlock had deigned to even entertain the idea of a flatmate at all, never mind this seemingly unassuming little man. That first impression had been sorely mistaken, though, hadn't it? Mycroft thought back to the first time he had confronted John, and felt a tiny shiver at the memory of the ex-soldier's dark-blue eyes staring him down. He had been only the second man to stand before Mycroft in his official capacity and not blanch, not slink away in terror. Only Gregory, and now John. He had seen then, that this Captain John Watson was quite dangerous in his own quiet way, and that he would most likely be very good for his brother indeed.  
   
After the initial bit of waffling and utter confusion on his brother's part, John was proving Mycroft to be quite correct in his assumptions. He had watched Sherlock's attempts to keep John to himself with mixed exasperation and amusement. All those broken dates, Sherlock rushing in with cries of "A case, John!", as if those three words would explain and excuse everything. And yet - John would eagerly follow nearly every time, wouldn't he? Only to return to his room alone after those long and hectic nights; throwing himself on his bed and wanking furiously before curling in on himself and falling asleep under the covers in a small bundle.  
   
Then there were the times that John would reach down and draw the shoebox out from under the bed, and Mycroft knew that he was in for a real show. These were the times that John Watson would essentially make love to himself, and they were glorious. Teasing, slow touches with hands and toys, that tight compact body being unknowingly spread out for Mycroft's silent gaze. John would take his time preparing himself before sliding a toy down and between and then in, oh yes, in so deep. Then it wouldn't be long before that golden body would arch and he would come hard and long and perhaps Mycroft would then have to take matters into his own hands or else go a little mad.  
   
He had saved a couple of these special sessions to his personal files, to revisit them again at a later date. One in particular he had saved not only because it was ridiculously sexy, but because it was the moment that Mycroft had realised that John and he had something in common. A pent-up desire for a certain silver-haired gentleman of both their acquaintance - Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. While there had been no audio equipment installed alongside the cameras, Mycroft was quite proficient in reading lips; hence his ability to know exactly who it was that John was fantasising about as he fucked himself steadily on a large black dildo. Mycroft remembered sitting back rather abruptly as John's release had splashed out over his chest and higher, some landing rather awkwardly on his chin. John had just closed his eyes in languorous ecstasy, hips rolling against toy and hand, riding out the last of his tremors. _'Oh God, Greg...'_  
   
After selecting the file and clicking 'save', Mycroft had let the cameras continue filming, but he had stopped watching any of it in real time. Although it was one of the hottest things he'd ever seen in 221B, the entire scene left him feeling a bit hollow. Once again, he had found himself thinking of Gregory, thinking of him as his, although that was quite ridiculous. Gregory belonged with Sherlock, even if either of them couldn't see it. It was Mycroft's determination that he would see them together at some point, and John could _not_ be allowed to interfere.  
   
However... Mycroft now allowed himself a bit of a smug smile. After his initial and rather illogical bout of jealousy, he had quickly realised that getting Greg and John together would actually be the optimal resolution. They would attempt to conceal their relationship from Sherlock, of course, and Mycroft would aid them, albeit unknowingly, giving them the chance to become quite attached. Then, at just the right moment, it would come out, and Sherlock would finally see just what it was that had been missing in his life. And there they would be, all wrapped up in each other and presenting themselves to him like a beautiful Christmas gift.  
   
Perfect.  
   
Of course, it had taken the idiots three more months of dancing around each other to even admit to their mutual attraction. Mycroft had begun to despair, entertaining the idea of simply kidnapping the both of them and tossing them into a well-appointed hotel room together for a week or two. But then it had happened. He had finally seen them together, and had done a little celebratory dance at his desk. Mentally, of course.  
   
Mycroft was still keeping tabs on the good Detective Inspector, although nowhere near as much as he did in the early days. The newest in Gregory's long string of unappealing flats had a CCTV camera situated directly across the street; Mycroft had been idly flipping through the footage and had stopped when he saw Lestrade's car pull up. Oh, the thrill of victory that had run through his veins when he saw John Watson step out of the passenger side door. And he may or may not have squealed quietly when Gregory took John's arm in a tender and yet clearly proprietary grip. Everything about his posture toward the smaller man had screamed _'Mine'_ in bold, block lettering.  
   
First phase complete.

Even if Mycroft had to fight down the small lump of wild emotions that threatened to break free at the sight of Gregory leaning in to lay a gentle kiss on John's temple. _'Control, Mycroft. Gregory is not yours, he never will be yours. This is for Sherlock, all of it for Sherlock. Control.'_ And he had succeeded, as he always did. He had managed to create unique situations for Sherlock to investigate on his own, far from London, far from the relationship that was swiftly blooming between the DI and the ex-Army doctor.  
   
It was at about the three-month mark that Mycroft found that he was silently congratulating himself for having brought the two men together, for having made both of them happy. Mycroft had noted that John seemed to be bringing Gregory around to 221B more often, and felt that perhaps it was time that their relationship be 'discovered'. So, around the six-month mark, Mycroft brought Sherlock home from one of his 'missions' early.  
   
And that was what brought him to today, sitting in his darkened office at his townhouse, eagerly fast-forwarding through months of footage to get to the good bits. He had already seen the first time that John had brought Gregory back to Baker Street, watching with glee as they disappeared down the hallway that led to the bathroom only to come out dripping wet, John flushed pink, his eyes glassy with that familiar post-coital haze. Gregory had been achingly hard and had hesitated only long enough to sheathe his cock before simply bending John in half over Sherlock's armchair and taking him hard and fast.  
   
Mycroft had to pause the footage at that point and take a moment to relieve himself yet again, drawing the waistband of his silk pyjama bottoms down and wanking into a bundle of tissues. He eyed his small rubbish bin, already half-full, and silently thanked God that he had the foresight to take the laptop home. He had called in earlier, stating that he would of course be available if anything dire came up, but that he had personal business to attend to and would prefer to be left alone for the day. Anthea had demurred quietly, although Mycroft could swear he heard a bit of amusement in her voice. Damned witch - he could never be sure of precisely what she had seen, or what she knew.  
   
Mycroft continued to forward through footage of what counted as normalcy at 221B; his brother pacing in the sitting room at all hours, John placidly sipping his tea while leafing through the paper, both of them interviewing potential clients, and so on. He stopped forwarding through at the sight of a stranger stepping into the camera's view, one arm wrapped firmly around Gregory's waist. Mycroft felt a momentary panic, although the thought that Gregory would cheat on John was frankly ridiculous, especially while in his boyfriend's flat. Then John stepped into view, taking a seat in Sherlock's armchair, and Mycroft felt another swift flash of camaraderie. Apparently, John liked to watch as well; only it seemed he liked to take his pleasure in the flesh, as opposed to from a distance, through the cold eye of a camera lens. The stranger was ludicrously large, at least six-foot-three, with broad shoulders and big hands. The dynamic between he and Gregory was easy to see, and Mycroft found that he didn't like it. Even though John was watching avidly, there was clearly something about the stranger that he didn't seem to like either.  
   
Mycroft shuddered slightly and then decided to fast-forward through whatever this was, seeing as how it apparently had no bearing on the burgeoning relationship between John, Gregory, and now, his little brother. And that was how he came to their confrontation. Sherlock pacing madly, John pushing him up against the wall and kissing him gently but thoroughly, that damned _'oh!'_ of recognition, the light in Sherlock's eyes as he slowly became aware...

Second phase complete.  
   
There was a minor swoop in Mycroft's stomach as he watched Sherlock start to crumple, John swiftly crouching to catch his lanky body and laying him down over his and Gregory's laps on the sofa. Light caresses, Gregory fisting Sherlock's shirt and bringing their mouths together hard and then yet another lightbulb igniting in his brother's ever-present halo before ( _oh, dear_ ) quite a little breakdown and tears, actual tears in Sherlock's eyes before the two older men gathered him up and led him down the hallway and into the bedroom.  
   
And there, of course, Mycroft was quite blind. He sighed in frustration and fast-forwarded again. 221B was seemingly quiet for the rest of the night, until the morning light came up and he noted activity in the kitchen. John and Gregory, simply pottering around, making tea and toast and reading the paper together in silence. Mycroft paused the video again, focusing on Gregory's face, memorising his expression of quiet bliss. Of course. This was what he had been missing, wasn't it? A household that he could potentially call his own. Starting it up again, Mycroft carefully parsed out John's speech and blinked slightly. It seemed that John was offering just that, offering Gregory a place at 221B. The men touched their foreheads together and Mycroft giggled slightly when he saw Sherlock ghost into the room and lean up against the doorway, watching them with undisguised affection before speaking and startling them quite thoroughly.  
   
His eyebrows rose as he observed the easy way the two men handled Sherlock and his ridiculous obsession with not eating and congratulated himself even further on his cunning plan. Then a serious discussion about past - activities, Sherlock clearly embarrassed about his lack of experience although hiding it quite well. Gregory seemed desperate to lay his hands on him, but John kept pulling him back, outlining his safety concerns like the good doctor that he was. And then Sherlock said - something, something about barriers and exclusivity and John quite lost his focus. Mycroft couldn't help but grin as Gregory took advantage of John's distraction, beckoning Sherlock forward.  
   
And then Mycroft mostly lost sight of the good Detective Inspector as Sherlock bent to kiss John, who was draped over Gregory's back. There was a fair amount of caressing before both John and Sherlock drew back from Gregory, who was apparently in some amount of distress. Mycroft watched as his little brother stripped Gregory efficiently and shoved him up against the table before sliding to his knees. Without thinking, he hit 'pause', and sat back to consider. Everything that he had seen up until this point had been either John and/or Gregory alone. Mycroft found himself rationalising that Sherlock had seen him in many questionable positions before, so why was this any different? Well, aside from the issue of consent, of course.

He leaned his elbows on his desk and placed his head in his hands, allowing memory to take over. Mycroft had been well aware that his baby brother had been watching from his bathroom hideaway all those years ago. It had been the arrogance of youth, really, an awkward attempt to show Sherlock just what being an adult might entail. A concrete way to demonstrate to Sherlock that if he truly believed that he and Mycroft were the same, as he had always insisted, then this was what he had to look forward to. Never mind that the illicit thrill of discovery, that sweet burn of humiliation, had made his acts on those late nights all that more exciting.

Until Alexander had brought that other boy to stay, and they both visited his room in the night. That other boy, whose name had been lost in the haze of confusion and time, that boy who had looked at Mycroft with just a touch of pity as Alexander had insulted him. A hint of sadness that had dissolved into ecstasy as Mycroft did as he was told and took him in his mouth and licked and sucked until that nameless boy had let go with a whimper and had come down Mycroft's throat. And then Alexander had taken his turn, delivering yet another insult as he pulled out at the last moment and came all over Mycroft’s chin and pyjamas, leaving him humiliated and soiled as the two boys slipped out of his room.

He didn’t even know how long he had stayed there, crouched on the floor, before Sherlock had come in. He only vaguely remembered being gently prodded to his feet and led into the toilet, a warm cloth on his face before being redressed and then being tugged back to bed. He could easily recall Sherlock’s high-pitched but sweet voice as he read to him, and the feeling of his small fingers combing through his hair until he fell asleep.

The next morning Mycroft had awakened feeling quite ill. At first he had been confused, but then it had all come back to him, and he had barely made it to the toilet before he was retching miserably. It wasn’t necessarily because of the way that he had been used, because, really, what else was he good for? It was the fact that Sherlock had witnessed it all, that Mycroft had effectively corrupted his innocent baby brother with his blatantly vile and reprehensible acts. And my God, the fact that he had come in afterwards to tend to him, to wipe away the filth… Mycroft’s body had shuddered and he had retched again, resting his cheek on the cool surface of the bathtub when his stomach was quite empty.

After showering and dressing, he had hesitated only a moment before firmly shutting his bathroom door and locking it securely on his side. Somehow he knew that Sherlock would take it as a rejection, but Mycroft could not allow him to be witness to such debauchery again. Despite what he had already seen, his brother was still a child, and it was Mycroft’s duty to see him kept safe, to protect him from the atrocities of the world.

Looking at the image frozen on the screen, Mycroft could not say whether he had succeeded or not. Sherlock was quite the force of nature unto himself really, irredeemably self-centred and remarkably irascible on his best days, astonishingly knowledgeable about a great many questionable things. He lived for the puzzle and the solving thereof; and yet, if someone came to him in great need, he would never turn them down nor accept payment for solving their fiddly little issues. At his core he was a good man with a sensitive heart, one that he viciously protected with a barbed tongue and lightning quick wit.

Oh, he was undoubtedly familiar with the wicked ways of this world, intellectually if not physically. And yet, the expression on his face now, as he knelt before Gregory and looked up uncertainly… How? Having seen his very own brother at one of his lowest points, having just been used as little more than a warm hole for two eager boys – how could he still be so bloody innocent, so unsure? Surely he knew what to do – hadn’t Mycroft demonstrated that, at the very least?

Mycroft shook himself, trying to isolate the tumult of emotions galloping through his chest. How could he be happy that Sherlock had remained somewhat untainted by his actions, and yet disappointed at the same time? Whatever lesson he was hoping to impart his nine year-old brother all those years ago, it certainly wasn’t how to give the best head. Right? _'Good God, Mycroft, get a hold of yourself.'_ No. Whatever this was, it was for Sherlock’s benefit. He merely wanted to see how they all worked together, wanted to make sure that his plan had been the correct one. Greg and Sherlock, together as they should be, with John thrown in for good measure. Yes, that’s all this was, a confirmation of a successful mission.

With his nerves somewhat assuaged, Mycroft settled back in his chair and pressed ‘play’ once more. He watched as John guided Sherlock through his first successful blowjob, no doubt relaying whatever tricks he had learnt in his time with Gregory. He continued to watch as Sherlock grew more confident, pleased that both John and Gregory seemed willing to be patient, to teach and to guide. There were smiles and laughter, but never at Sherlock’s expense. The dynamic between the three was easy, gentle and caring. Mycroft felt a little prickle behind his eyes even as he heaved out a sigh of relief. Perfect. He wouldn’t have been able to find anyone better than these two to take care of his brother, not if he had searched for decades.

His eyes suddenly focused on the screen again as Gregory helped Sherlock to his feet before turning to John and folding him up in his arms. Sherlock turned in the doorway and made a brief statement before sliding his robe off his shoulders and my _God_. Mycroft’s mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of his baby brother standing there in all his erect glory, posing for his lovers quite unconsciously. John and Gregory were clearly affected much the same way as Mycroft, as the two men had frozen in place. There was no denying that Sherlock was a remarkably beautiful man. It wasn't that Mycroft was unaware of it, not with the way those quicksilver eyes had often stared into his; that pale angular face framed by dark curls, those damned pink, plush lips...

Mycroft placed a hand to his own thin lips before raising his pyjama top and poking at his small belly ruefully. No, it was abundantly clear that Sherlock had inherited the looks in the family, that lanky body that required no additional discipline to remain quite firm and sculpted. Then Sherlock turned to head into the bedroom, and damn those long, long legs topped by a surprisingly lush behind. Mycroft hissed with displeasure as his body responded to the image. Damn it, this was _not_ happening.

Mycroft scrubbed his hands over his face and then fast-forwarded again, pleased this time that there was no camera in Sherlock’s bedroom to capture what was undoubtedly going to be his baby brother’s deflowering. More fast-forwarding, all three men eventually emerging freshly-showered and dressed, Sherlock pulling Greg behind him down the stairs before coming up short at their landlady’s interference. Then John luring her upstairs, no doubt to make arrangements for Gregory’s impending arrival as a permanent fixture in the flat. Mycroft played through their conversation, nodding in approval as the new arrangement was settled, 221C to become part of their parcel as Sherlock’s lab.

Yes, this would work out quite well, wouldn’t it? A bit more fast-forwarding, watching as John ambled around the flat by himself, straightening this and that. He disappeared for a while upstairs, coming back down in comfy lounge wear. Mycroft’s heart beat a little faster as he noted that he had his shoebox in hand as he came into the kitchen. John took it with him as he disappeared down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom. About twenty minutes after that, Sherlock and Gregory came back once more, laden with the luggage and bags that Mycroft had seen in the surveillance photos yesterday. And then yet another session in the kitchen – this time the attention focused mostly on John, Sherlock sucking him as Gregory manipulated the toy that the smaller man had apparently inserted earlier.

My God, don’t they ever get tired? Mycroft shook his head as John fell to his knees and neatly pulled Sherlock off before they both attacked Gregory’s clothing. His irrational jealousy flared up yet again as the DI settled back on the floor of the kitchen, and John and Sherlock descended on him. He noted with satisfaction that the two worked well as a team on their own, as they seemingly coordinated their efforts to pleasure Gregory with little more than sly looks and small quirks of their mouths.

Mycroft shook his head and forwarded through some more of their apparent domestic bliss, his satisfaction of a job well done beginning to fade. They hadn't all been together for more than twenty-four hours, and they were already operating as a fully-functioning family unit, if an extraordinarily libidinous one. How could he even begin to delude himself into thinking that he had a place among them? Now that they were together, he should just leave them be. Leave it to Gregory and John to look after Sherlock, and he could just fade into the woodwork. Mycroft sighed deeply, knowing that he could never be that selfless.

Mycroft continued to fast-forward, taking note of particular date/time stamps that he may wish to revisit at another time, Gregory seemingly relaying a serious story as his lovers listened intently, John's little show on the sofa that Mycroft had first witnessed yesterday evening. He was definitely feeling less self-conscious about watching Sherlock in his various compromising situations, especially when it was Gregory taking control. It was easy enough to replace Sherlock's image with that of his own in his head anyhow. All too easy to imagine that it was he who had passed out with his head pillowed on Gregory's lap after a quite thorough fucking.

Mycroft smiled gently as John and Gregory managed to manipulate Sherlock's sleeping form into standing and then headed toward the bedroom, where night settled down over 221B once again. Forwarding through, he noted that Sherlock had actually slept for a good five hours before getting up in the wee hours of the morning and resuming whatever activity he had been fiddling about with on Gregory's laptop the evening before. He was at it for a few hours before his interest was seemingly diverted by something in the bedroom, and he rose from the sofa to join his lovers.

Again? Dear _Lord_. Although Mycroft had suspected that Lestrade was a highly-sexed individual, he had never imagined his brother as such. But then, perhaps it was just three decades of repressed sexuality all exploding at once? Mycroft found himself hoping that was the case, because he'd have no chance otherwise. The third and final stage of his personal mission depended greatly on certain activities achieving a particular equilibrium, and if things continued as they were... No. Best not think of that. _'You must be patient, Mycroft. Do what you're best at. Observe.'_

Sherlock finally emerged wearing only his tatty dressing gown, eyes glassy, a faint smirk on his face. Mycroft shook his head slightly, but couldn't help but echo the grin. Why did he suddenly feel so proud? Because his little Lockie was finally growing up, that was why. He frowned to himself. Sentiment. Let's not get carried away, now. He forwarded through again as there was very little activity in any of the areas that he could see clearly.

Oh. It seemed that they were preparing to go out for the day. Mycroft debated briefly about adding a tail, but then scoffed at himself. What kind of trouble could they get up to, really? He played through, parsing out John's speech, since it seemed that he was the one taking control of this little excursion. Breakfast, clinic, shops. Hm. Again, all frightfully domestic, and although Sherlock seemed to be bristling a little bit, he was clearly eager to get on with the day. How fascinating.

Mycroft checked the time stamp and was surprised to find that he had nearly caught up to real time. They'd been out now for a couple hours. He tapped his fingers on his desk for a moment, and then decided to clean up and maybe tackle some breakfast of his own. After seeing the bloody Greek god that was his baby brother, though... Mycroft sighed heavily. Back to the yoghurt and fruit, then. Damn and blast.

When he came back, freshly showered and wearing a frankly frightful but delightfully comfortable track suit, it was just in time to see them all troop back through the door to the sitting room, laden with groceries and various other nonsense. John was clearly grumpy and pushed right through into the kitchen. Sherlock seemed remarkably needy, as he dropped everything that he had in hand and pressed close to Gregory's back. Gregory himself was obviously frustrated, and turned with a snarl on his lips to shove his bags into Sherlock's chest. The message was clear as he turned away and stalked down the hallway, and Sherlock scurried to obey, helping John put away their purchases as quickly as possible.

After a few minutes, Gregory was back in the sitting room, his arms full of - what, exactly, Mycroft couldn't tell. At this point, John and Sherlock were waiting rather impatiently on the sofa, anticipation tugging at their faces. At one word from Gregory, both stood and started to undress. Oh. _Oh my_. Mycroft smirked and made sure lotion and tissues were within easy reach before he sat back to take in what promised to be a _very_ interesting show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playtime at 221B...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for more smut... 
> 
> Please do let me know how I'm doing - I live for feedback, my darling ones!

When Greg came back out to the sitting room, arms laden with various odds and ends, he found his lovers waiting rather impatiently on the sofa. He cocked an eyebrow. "Strip." John blushed as Sherlock grinned wildly, but they both immediately stood and did as they were told. Then they waited until Greg had situated himself in John's armchair, placing certain items on the floor next to his feet. He tossed a towel at Sherlock's chair and then arranged another one across his knees.  
   
"John, come here, please." John went to him, and Greg gestured at his lap. "Arse up, my love." John snorted, but obediently stretched out over Greg's legs. Greg couldn't resist delivering a couple hard smacks, his body shivering at John's loud moan. "Sherlock, now you - come kneel here." He indicated a spot next to John's upturned and nicely pink arse. Greg trailed his fingers along John's back and lower as Sherlock situated himself.  
   
"Now, pick up that toy and get it nice and slippery. I want you to work it into John's bum. Take your time. Oh, and hand me that remote." Sherlock grinned sharply, eyes raking over John's supine form. John's head dropped forward and his body shuddered as he spread his thighs for Sherlock's probing fingers. Greg's eyes were locked on the sight of Sherlock's long elegant fingers circling John's pink arsehole, dipping inside and slipping back out again. Sherlock moaned quietly as Greg's tongue flickered out over his lips, and he couldn't resist coming up on his knees to press a desperate kiss to his mouth.  
   
"The toy, baby. Nice and slow, now." As soon as Sherlock had placed the blunt tip of the toy to John's hole, Greg turned it on, everybody shivering as it jolted to life. John clutched at Greg's leg and rolled his hips slightly, striving for a better angle. Sherlock simply held it there for a few moments, letting it buzz against John's flesh before pressing in gently, then drawing back again. Forward, back, forward, back, each movement sure and steady and oh-so-slow, pressing it in by bare increments. John groaned in frustration and Greg chuckled even as he turned it up a notch. Greg watched Sherlock's face as he worked the toy, his fascination evident with every minute twitch of his eyebrows and twist of lip. "Okay, baby. In all the way. Go _gently_ , now." Sherlock hummed as he slid the vibe in all the way and held it there, pressing it in deep as Greg manipulated the remote, cycling it up and up and then back down to a nice low setting. John writhed, biting his lip to hold back his cries.  
   
"Oh, yes. John, sit up if you would. In my lap, facing out." John rearranged himself, gratefully leaning his head back against Greg's shoulder as his lover idly ran his fingers from chest to belly. "Now, here's what I'd like to see. John, I want to watch you to fuck Sherlock. I'll let you decide how, as long as it's right here on the floor in front of me." Sherlock moaned low. "Sherlock, while John is deciding how he's going to have you, you're going to prepare yourself for him. Get yourself settled in your chair there, and start opening yourself up. We want to see everything, don't we, love?" The smaller man tucked up in Greg's nap nodded silently, teeth still buried in his bottom lip.  
   
Sherlock gave his lovers a calculating look before spreading the towel on the seat of his chair and then settling down, clutching the bottle of lube. After a moment, he tilted his head coquettishly before leaning back and draping his legs over the arms of his chair, spreading himself open for their viewing pleasure. He moaned loudly, more for show than anything else, since he had yet to even touch himself. Greg chuckled. "Oh, just look at you, you _tart_. Gonna put on a show for us, yeah?"  
   
The younger man nodded, running his hand down the length of his body, cupping his bollocks and tugging gently. "Greg..." His normal baritone had gone quite breathy, and John gave a little shiver, rolling his hips against the vibe stuffed in his bum. "Will you tell me a story, please? Tell me about you and John."  
   
"Hm. All right, baby." Greg settled himself, hooking his chin over John's shoulder. "What do you think, love? Should I tell him about when we went back to mine for the first time? Or maybe about the first time we went to the club, and you had the idea to watch me with Edward?"  
   
John gasped as Greg boosted the vibe one notch. "Yes - the club. When you -  _mm_ \- when you started talking about us with Sherlock..."

Sherlock made another low noise, a subtle whine as he circled his hole with slick fingers. "Me? You fantasised about me?"

"Oh, _yes_ , baby." Greg stroked John languidly. "Well, I fantasised about you quite a bit on my own anyhow. Surely you must have known."

A slight shake of dark curls, a quiet gasp as his finger breached his entrance. "I didn't allow myself to - _oh God_ \- think about you that way."

"Mm. Well. That night, we had gone to the club, just because, really. I wanted to get out and have a bit of fun, and John here graciously tagged along."

John giggled. "You pouted until I gave in, Gregory."

Greg hummed and squeezed John around his middle, leaning in to nibble on his neck. "Can't resist the ol' Lestrade puppy-eyes, can you, my love?" John giggled again, squirming against Greg's body. "God, you're _delicious_." Greg took a moment to breathe deeply, refocusing his attention on the task at hand. "Anyway. So who do I happen to run into but my ex? The man who neatly sweeps me off my feet every damn time we come across each other. But not this time, oh no. Because this time I'm with John. But we did dance, after all, Edward is a very good dancer. Wouldn't you say, love?"

John nodded. "I still don't know why I reacted the way I did."

Sherlock slid in a second finger and threw his head back, hips rolling gently. "Enough about Edward. When do you get to me?"

John snorted and Greg laughed affectionately. "Impatient git. So John sees us dancing, and decides he wants to see more, right? And when we were in one of those dank back rooms, one of the first things that idiot does is bring _you_ up, Sherlock. Tells John that I'm in love with you..." This time, Sherlock's moan is quite loud and unabashedly genuine. "And John, the little  smartarse, simply says 'I'm aware', and admits that he feels much the same." Sherlock hissed as he abruptly slid a third finger in, thrusting against his hand firmly.

"Oh God, _yes_..." John made a noise, a quiet little growl, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's hand. Greg hummed and licked a wet stripe along his exposed neck.

"Soon, love. Patience." Greg turned his attention back to Sherlock. "Go _slow_ , baby. Don't want to pop off before John gets his chance, do you?" Sherlock snarled, but gentled his thrusts, heaving out a great breath. "So. When Edward fails to get a rise out of John by mentioning you, and he leaves in a huff, I decide that we'll use you to have a little fun, yeah?"

"How? Oh Jesus... Tell me, Greg."

"Hm... How did I start, love?"

"You asked how I'd take him."

"Oh, yes. Whether John would get you down on your knees, baby, force you to take his prick down your throat. That was how it started, wasn't it?" Sherlock whined, fingers buried deep. "But it went in another direction rather quickly, didn't it?"

"Said you'd pass me around like a - oh _Christ_ \- fucking party favour."

Greg sucked John's earlobe into his mouth and nibbled gently, running one hand up his lover's leg and between to tug on his bollocks. "Oh yeah. I said that we would use him, Sherlock, you and me. He would suck you off and then I'd bend him over and fuck him senseless. Or that we could take him together. You between his legs, and me fucking his mouth. Make him beg for both of us."

Both of Greg's lovers whined, faces contorted with the combined effort of holding back. "And we will, won't we, love? Oh, we're gonna make such a _mess_ of you. Absolutely ruin you for anyone else. But not right now. Right now, I want to see you fuck Sherlock into oblivion. How, John? How are you going to take him?"

John's voice was nearly breathless as he squirmed on Greg's body, writhing on his lap and against the hand still plucking at his bollocks gently. "Hands and knees."

Sherlock moaned and dropped onto the floor without a second thought, sticking his arse in the air. After a moment, he grabbed at the towel and spread it out underneath him. Greg chuckled. "So considerate. Don't want to make a mess out of  Mrs. Hudson's carpet, now do we?"

Sherlock shook his head and moaned again. "Greg, please."

John whined as Greg held him fast. "I'm a little surprised, love. Thought you'd want to see his face, watch him ride you."

"Time for that later. Right now I just want to feel. To fuck. Let me go, dammit." He growled as Greg chuckled and set his teeth into his shoulder briefly. "Love, please. _Please_ let me go so I can go sink into that glorious arse and give you the show you so desperately want. I can feel how hard you are, I know you want this as much as I do. Oh, please."

"Kiss me, John. Show me how much you want it." As soon as Greg's arms had released him, John slithered in his lap, turning around to straddle his legs. Raising himself up slightly, John tilted Greg's head back and pressed his mouth to his urgently. No gentle teasing touch here as John worked Greg's mouth open and thrust his tongue inside desperately. He pressed in as close as he could, rubbing himself against Greg's belly as he invaded his mouth. Greg hummed contentedly as John pulled away, eyes wild and dark.

"Please." Greg nodded and handed him a condom. John sighed with relief and then twitched as the vibe in his bum jumped up two notches. "Bastard." Greg chuckled darkly as John fumbled with the condom packet, finally getting it open and rolling it on with shaky fingers. He leaned in to lay another kiss on Greg's lips and got quite distracted as his lover cupped his arse with both hands and squeezed gently.

"John! For _God's_ sake! Get down here!" Sherlock slammed his open palm down on the floor and wiggled his backside desperately.

John pulled away from Greg and blushed as he bit his lip. "You made me forget myself yet again, Gregory."

"Go on, Captain Watson. Go give him a proper seeing-to. Fuck the stuffing out of him."

John giggled as he slid off of Greg's lap and went to his knees behind Sherlock. The younger man moaned in relief as he felt the first of John's exploratory touches, his small but strong hands running alongside his spine, trailing down and under, grasping the perfect globes of his arse and squeezing hard.

Sherlock gasped and pushed back into him. "John, please. I need you inside me. Now, please. _Now_."

"Oh, Sherlock... Some things are better when they're savoured, you know."

Sherlock keened and threw his lover a desperate look over his shoulder as John slowly inserted one finger and then two. "Later, John. For now, it's - it's too much and I can't process and it's driving me mad. John, please." He rocked back into his hand. "Please oh please..."

John hummed and reached for the lube. "I'm going to need you a bit lower, love. These damned giraffe legs of yours..."

Greg snorted even as he bit his lip. Sherlock moaned again. "Show me. Guide me. Whatever you need. Just tell me." 

John hummed, dipping his fingers into Sherlock's loosened hole and then lower, rubbing firmly against his perineum, rolling his bollocks in his hand. "Spread your knees more, put your chest to the floor." Sherlock hastened to obey, and John lined himself up. "Oh, yes. That's _perfect_ , my love." Without another word spoken, he pushed himself in deep and just stayed there, head thrown back in bliss. Greg chose this moment to boost the vibe yet again, leaving it steady at '7'.

Sherlock's groans mixed with John's, a sultry low symphony that had Greg squirming in his seat. "Oh, fuck, John. Greg - fucking hell - _yes_." Sherlock's voice was muffled by the floor, and his fingers scrabbled along the surface, finally finding purchase as he stretched his arms out straight and braced against the fireplace. He turned his head to look Greg in the eye. "Make him move, goddammit."

Greg smiled widely. "I can't make him do anything, baby. Just behave, and you'll get your reward."

Sherlock glared, but soon enough his eyes were rolling back as John did move, sliding all the way out and then all the way back in, his every motion long and slow and oh-so-deep. 

_" Ohhh, God..."_

John hummed again and took hold of Sherlock's hips, pulling him down into him as he began to move harder, faster. He cursed quietly and threw Greg a dirty look as the vibe was boosted once again. Greg grinned sharply at him and leaned forward, licking his lips as John's hips pistoned and his firm arse flexed rhythmically. Sherlock was grunting softly with each thrust, rolling his hips and pushing back hard against John's every motion.

Greg moaned low. "Oh, _God_. You two are stunning together." He turned his attention to Sherlock, his curly head jolting with every one of John's strokes. His eyes were twisted shut, his mouth hanging listless, pink tongue flickering with every wordless sound of pleasure that he made. "Baby?" His brilliant blue-green eyes fluttered open, glazed over with lust. "Do you want to come, Sherlock?  Hmm? For me?"

"Ohhh... Yes, please oh please. For you, for John." A loud moan. "God _yes_."

Greg turned his head and shook his head at John, whose hand was slowly working its way around to the front of Sherlock's body. "No, love. Not like that. I want you to make him come without touching his cock."

John snarled quietly and pulled out abruptly, smacking Sherlock hard on the arse. "Turn over. _Now_." Sherlock gasped in shock at John's sudden withdrawal and his curt command, but flipped over without question. John shoved Sherlock's knees apart and toward his chest. "You hold onto these, and do not touch yourself under any circumstances. Is that understood?"

Sherlock nodded dazedly. John narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. Sherlock gasped again. "Yes, sir. Understood." He threw a bewildered look at Greg, but with John having slipped into 'Captain' mode, the older man was a bit lost himself, his teeth digging hard into his fist. Then all thought ceased as John rammed himself back in, angling his groin high and up, going for the bulls-eye. He grinned fiercely as Sherlock's eyes flew open wide at the first stroke. "Oh, _fuck_! Jesus, John, yes  yesyesyes... Almost, oh God - _almost_..." He pulled back on his legs even further and yelped as John unerringly found his mark on every stroke.

Greg's fingers trembled as he twisted the knob on the remote all the way up and watched with delight as Sherlock's body shuddered and his cock twitched before releasing its load all over his belly and chest in three, no, four long spurts. John cursed again, fingers digging hard into the flesh of Sherlock's thighs as he jerked and then slammed in deep, holding himself still for a long moment before rolling his hips, savouring the last of his aftershocks.

John turned pleading eyes on Greg and he jolted in surprise, having completely forgotten about the remote in his hand. He quickly dialled it down, his lips quirking at John's relieved sigh. "Sorry, love. I was a bit, um, distracted." The men on the floor said nothing, their faces red and sweaty, their chests heaving. John finally withdrew, leaning down to give Sherlock a gentle kiss as he moaned in discomfort. He tossed the condom in a nearby rubbish bin and snagged the towel off of Greg's lap to wipe himself and Sherlock down.

"Did you enjoy the show, love?"

Greg cleared his throat and grinned. "I think you _know_ that I did." John threw Sherlock a look and the two men began to advance on Greg, on their hands and knees. "Oh dear fucking Christ in Heaven, you two look like you want to eat me alive."

Sherlock licked his lips. "Problem?"

"Good God, _no_."

They ran their hands up Greg's legs to his groin and then upward, sliding under his shirt to touch and caress bare skin. John got to his feet and tugged at his clothing impatiently, so Greg raised his arms above his head and let him remove the offending article. Sherlock's nimble fingers went for his fly, and Greg moaned as his aching cock was finally released. He lifted his hips slightly as Sherlock cursed quietly, pulling and tugging at jeans and pants, trying to give himself room to work. 

John reached down and wrapped his fingers around Greg's hard length as soon as it was freed completely, squeezing gently. Greg's body shuddered and his back arched involuntarily. "Won't take long, will it, love?" Greg shook his head wordlessly and moaned as Sherlock's hot breath ghosted over his flesh. John ran his fingers through dark curls and nodded down at the younger man kneeling between Greg's thighs. "All yours, Sherlock love. A nice little treat for you for being so good."

Greg groaned as Sherlock smiled wickedly and stuck out his tongue to lick one long wet stripe along the underside of Greg's thick cock, already weeping with pre-come. He made a delighted noise deep in his throat as he lapped up the clear fluid, making a show of licking his lips in pleasure. John leaned over the back of his armchair, bending down to nibble at Greg's ears and neck and shoulder, wherever he could easily reach. Greg wrenched his gaze away from the vision in his lap in order to capture John's lips properly. He groaned loudly into John's mouth as Sherlock swallowed him down eagerly.

"Oh God, oh God, oh sweet Lord..." Greg thrust up gently, unable to hold himself back any longer. Both he and John turned to watch Sherlock at work, eyes half-closed in ecstasy as he looked up at them from underneath dark lashes. He pulled off slightly, swirling his tongue around the head before peeling his lips away from his teeth and biting down gently. "Oh fuck _yes_ , baby, please." Sherlock hummed and engulfed as much of Greg as he was able, setting his teeth in firmly at the base of his cock. Greg fought to keep himself still as a sharp spike of pleasure raced through his body.

John blinked and once more began to kiss and nibble along Greg's neck, sharing a look with Sherlock as he began to suck in earnest. Greg raised one shaking hand to Sherlock's head as he reached for John with the other, up and behind to cup at the back of his neck. He tilted his head to give John more access and rolled his hips to drive himself deeper into Sherlock's mouth. As John bit down hard and Sherlock sucked even harder, Greg let go with a long, loud moan, his consciousness shivering itself to bits as his body shook and shuddered.

Both John and Sherlock hummed against his flesh and then released him from their mouths. Sherlock tucked his head against Greg's thigh as John wrapped his arms around him from behind. As awkward as it was, Greg felt himself drifting quite happily, until John leaned in and gave him a big wet sloppy kiss on the cheek.

_" Ergh!"_

"Let's clean up and get dinner started." Greg grumbled, but at just the mention of food, his stomach grumbled even louder. John laughed outright before taking Sherlock's hand and hauling him to his feet. They both stood there and waited until Greg reached out for them, kicking aside his tangled clothing as they pulled him upright and into their embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goth night at the club...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping a wee bit forward, because I've had this chapter and one or two more written out for a while. 
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies!

John sat on a stool at the bar and squirmed slightly as Greg gyrated behind him. He hadn't expected to find himself back at the club again, especially on another themed night similar to the one Greg had dragged him to all those months ago. Not Retro, no, this one was Goth Mania. Good _God_. John had never felt so out of place in all his life.  
   
The mass of people writhing on the dance floor were pale and wan, clad in dark clothing; all of them ridiculously sincere and entirely too young for John's comfort. Generally, the atmosphere at the club was boisterous and fun, not quite so - somber. John couldn't even tell if they were having a good time, for Christ's sake. At least he knew Greg was, but if the man had a pint in his belly and there was a beat to be heard, he'd bounce around to just about anything.  
   
Greg leaned in to nose behind John's ear, working around to mouth at the nape of his neck. John shivered and pressed backward slightly. "God, I haven't even heard half of this music before. I wish I knew what they were playing..." John hummed noncommittally. "When did Sherlock say he was going to be here?"  
   
John shook his head as he pulled Greg's ear to his mouth. "He didn't. Just said to be here at a reasonable hour. 'Course for him, that could be two in the bloody morning."  
   
Greg laughed and then moaned a little as a new song started. "Fuck, that sound. That's _brilliant_ , that is." John blinked as an indefinable electronic noise swelled up around them, just getting louder and impossibly grander by the moment. Then a crashing of guitars, the solid whump of drums. "Jesus _fuck_." As a wordless voice started to pulse and wail over the electronic mish-mash, Greg started swaying, raising his hands above his head just as the faceless mob on the dance floor did the same.  
   
John smiled, in spite of himself. He was entirely out of place in this strange foreign land, but the same obviously couldn't be said of Greg. He turned slightly in his seat to survey his lover, a look of absolute bliss on his face as he moved to the music. Greg opened his eyes slowly and looked down at John with a wicked grin. John just shook his head in bemusement.  
   
Greg was suddenly distracted by a boy sitting by himself at the bar, a few stools down from John. He was nursing the last dregs of his pint, mouthing along to the lyrics of the song, a morose glare fixed to his face. Unlike many of the others present, this boy wasn't putting on an act. He was clearly depressed about something, and Greg felt a little twinge as he watched him. He pressed a swift kiss to John's temple and then went to join the boy, gesturing to the bartender Geoff to bring them both a pint. John rested his elbows on the bar and watched with interest as they chatted.  
   
"Pint's on me if you tell me who this is."  
   
The boy's eyebrows raised a fraction as he glanced at the intruder to his little mopey bubble. Not that Greg could see much of his face, what with the silly white makeup and blue-dyed fringe hanging down low. "Cheers." He swallowed down a healthy draught. "This here's Numan. Off Dead Son Rising. He came out with a new one a couple months back. Loads better than this."  
   
Greg blinked. "Gary Numan? Like _'Cars'_ and _'Down in the Park'_ Numan?"  
   
The boy nodded. "Yeah. Still going strong. He's a pioneer, really. Not much of a leap from electronica to industrial, y'know?"  
   
"Guess not." Greg gave a little shiver. "Jesus, that voice. It's like a demon come to life. Dead fucking sexy."  
   
The boy turned to him in surprise. "Wouldn't take you for the sort, Grandad."

"And what sort is that, Junior? Attracted to darkside, or attracted to men?"

Light brown eyes looked Greg over carefully. "Either, really."  
   
"Ah, what do you know, you little shit?" Greg grinned at him wildly. "You're all of _twelve_ , for fuck's sake."  
   
The boy drew himself up even as his eyes twinkled at Greg's smile. "I'll have you know I'm twenty-three, you old geezer."  
   
"Wow, that's almost like twelve twice over. I'm impressed." The boy laughed even as another song started. Greg sat bolt upright and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Just a mo - I'll be back."  
   
John smiled as he saw Greg rise from his stool and head back in his direction. This song, they both recognised, and both knew that neither would be able to resist a good solid snog because of it. John didn't know how many times they had shagged with this particular beat leading the way, he just knew that if either of them wasn't quite feeling it, then all the other had to do was put on this song, and the only thing the somewhat reluctant party could do, would be to give in.  
   
 _'I want to fuck you like an animal_  
 _I want to feel you from the inside_  
 _I want to fuck you like an animal_  
 _My whole existence is flawed_  
 _You get me closer to God'_

John lifted himself to his feet as Greg crashed into him, bending down to plunder his mouth. John went up on his toes to grab hold of Greg's silver hair with both hands as they kissed. John's body stiffened as Greg released his mouth and ran his tongue along his jawline and then down to his neck, biting down delicately.  
   
" _Jesus_ , Greg."  
   
"Mmph." Greg licked his way back into John's mouth and then pulled back. "Later, yeah? Your sweet little arse is _mine_." He emphasised with a swift but firm grope.  
   
John laughed and shook himself, head a little swimmy. "If Sherlock doesn't get to it first, I suppose." He sank back down on the bar stool and attempted to pull himself back together as Greg returned to his new friend.  
   
The boy grinned up at him as Greg sat, holding up his pint. They knocked their glasses together and drank. "That was - impressive, Grandad."  
   
Greg winked companionably. "With age comes wisdom, and a fuckload of experience. Respect your elders, my lad, and maybe you'll even learn a thing or two."  
   
The boy threw a quick glance at John, who smiled and winked. He turned back to Greg and eyed him up and down, clearly beginning to appreciate what he was seeing. "I'd ask you to, um - tutor me, but..."  
   
Greg grinned again. "Yeah, my dance card's a little full at the moment." He glanced at his watch. "As a matter of fact, we're waiting on our third to show up. Hope the big git hasn't gotten himself into trouble."  
   
"You've _two_ partners? A fuckload of experience, indeed..."  
   
"Oh yeah. Quite the embarrassment of riches, really." The boy sighed as Greg smirked. "Tell you what - here's my card, email's on back. I've obviously been out of the scene way too long - they're playing stuff here that I've never heard before. Send me some names, some audio files and all that. Maybe I'll be able to offer you some pointers in return?" He clapped the boy on the shoulder again. "Or, well - I'm a good listener too, y'know? Maybe I'm overstepping, but it seems that maybe you could use a friend?"  
   
The boy smiled a little sadly and nodded. "Not overstepping at all, Grandad. I - um, well... I appreciate it, actually." He pocketed Greg's card and knocked back the rest of his pint before standing. He held out his hand. "Stephan. It was extraordinarily pleasant to make your acquaintance, kind sir."  
   
Greg took his hand and stood himself, bending at the waist slightly in a courtly bow. "Very pleasant indeed, young squire. To future meetings." He raised Stephan's hand to his mouth and bit down gently on a knuckle as the boy giggled helplessly. Greg winked and released him. Stephan gave him a lingering once-over and threw another swift glance at John before disappearing into the crowd.   
   
Greg took the remainders of his pint back over to John, plonking it down on the bar. "Where is that enormous prat, anyway?"  
   
John grinned. "He'll be here. In his own time, of course. It's not like you aren't enjoying yourself or anything." He nodded in the direction that Stephan had vanished. "That kid's gonna wank himself to sleep tonight with thoughts of you, my love."  
   
"Yeah, well... He looked like he could do with a little human contact. And sometimes it's nice to know that I can still turn heads."  
   
"You daft _fool_. You turn heads wherever you go."  
   
Greg grinned and turned to face John, caressing his cheek with one finger. "Jealous, my sweet?"  
   
"Not at all. Sherlock, however... The lad's lucky that he wasn't here to witness that little action between his hand and your teeth. That was rather gallant of you, love. So very gallant and so very - _this_." John gestured out into the crowd vaguely.  
   
Greg laughed as he turned slightly to look over the mass on the dance floor. "There has always been a bit of pomp and circumstance surrounding this particular scene, I'll admit." He turned back, eyes a little distant. "That's one of the things I love about it. Not sure why."  
   
"Chivalry. The romance and pageantry of bygone days." John pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his waist. The stools were relatively tall, so sitting like this, he didn't have to tilt his head back quite as far to look Greg in the eye. "You're nothing but a foolish romantic fop at heart, my love. If it were up to you, it would be all big shirts with poofy sleeves and lace cuffs and velvet breeches with waistcoats to match."  
   
" _Mm_ , velvet. And I do love a man in a waistcoat. You're right about that." Greg put his nose to John's neck. "Not so sure about the poofy sleeves, though." John laughed even as he shivered at the touch of Greg's tongue on his flesh. He moaned slightly and squeezed his thighs around Greg's hips as he moved against him in time to the music. Greg sighed. "God, I'd love to take you into one of those dreadful back rooms and have you right now... They're all so beautiful, and _Jesus_ , what this music is doing to me..."

John's body shuddered. "We have to wait, love." Greg sighed again, and then pulled back at a sudden tension in John's body. Before he could turn, John had captured his face in both hands. There was a tiny smirk at the corner of his lips, but his slate-blue eyes were nothing but serious. "Gregory. It's very important that you pay attention to me right now." Greg twitched, body unconsciously trying to pull away. "Eyes on me, Gregory. Only me, is that understood?"  
   
"Um..." Greg nodded as best he could, dark eyes flickering between John's eyes and his mouth. "I understand, Captain."  
   
"Good." John took in a breath before releasing his grip on Greg's head, clasping his upper arms instead. There was another twitch as Greg's body tried to betray him, but he reined it in. "Now. I know that a lot of untoward things happen in this place, some concealed, some not. But you have to control yourself, Gregory. You must remember who you are."  
   
Greg tilted his head. "And who am I?"  
   
"You are a bloody Detective Inspector in New bloody Scotland Yard, that's who you are. You are trained to remain calm and collected in tense situations, and damn if this isn't going to be one hell of a test for you. You must remain calm, and you must maintain control. There is no other option, Gregory. Is that understood?"  
   
Greg stood a little straighter. "Of course, Captain. Although I don't know why you're carrying on so. It's just a dance club, for God's sake. I don't see how there could be any true threat to my control or even my job as you seem to be suggesting. I mean, what do you think I'm going to do, strip down in the middle...of...the...um. _Oh_."   
   
Greg's voice petered out as John turned him around gently, putting his chin on his shoulder and wrapping arms and legs around him securely. Not that John was at all confident that the additional weight of his body would prevent Greg from dragging himself away if provoked any further. " _Sweet baby Jesus_." Greg reached out with one hand to support himself on the bar as his knees wobbled.  
   
John's voice was low and deep in his ear. "Indeed." This, all of this - nonsense - with the black clothes and the white faces and the sinister music made absolutely no sense to John at all, but even he could see that it fit Sherlock like one of his blasted bespoke suits. The man was beautiful on his worst days, but this - this was fucking _art_.  
   
John's eyes travelled from sleek, shiny patent leather DMs to black denim that fit like a second skin to a deep purple v-neck short sleeve tee that was perhaps one size too small up to the pale angular face; lips tinted a deep blood-red and brilliant blue-green eyes lined with kohl before resting on the dark hair that had been straightened slightly so that it draped over the right side of the high forehead with a dramatic sweep.  
   
As both men watched, nearly breathless, Sherlock began to sway in time to the music, raising his hands above his head with sensuous grace, twirling slowly as he moved to the beat. It was then that they noticed the markings, a deep blue stain winding around him, all curves and sharp points, something like a thorny vine wrapped around and through Sherlock's body. Greg's eyes came to rest on the waistband of his jeans, low enough to show the high jutting points of his hipbones, where the blue vine vanished tantalisingly under the denim.   
   
John seemed to read his mind. "How far down do you think it goes?" Greg just shook his head, completely robbed of speech. John ground into Greg slightly, rubbing his erection into the small of his back. Greg groaned. "Guess we'll find out later, huh?"   
   
Greg turned his head slightly. "Not helping, John, you little bastard." John blinked at him innocently. They continued to watch as Sherlock shimmied and twirled, seemingly lost in a world of his own. Then the song ended and he turned back, stalking toward the entwined men. John slowly released Greg as Sherlock smiled wickedly and held out one elegant hand, the nails neatly lacquered in black, of course. Greg groaned.  
   
"Oh, _fuck_. Fuck me, Jesus fucking _fuck_..." Greg turned to John desperately. "Fangs, John, he's got fucking  _fangs_ and I am so fucking _done_ right now, oh _fuck_."   
   
John only shook his head with a small smile. He shoved at Greg gently. "So go dance with your vampire lover. I hear it's rather impossible to resist their charms."  
   
"Especially if they're conspiring against you with your human lover." Sherlock kept his voice pitched low, but the addition of the prosthetic teeth had given him a sweet little lisp. Greg groaned, his mind nothing but static, and wobbled again. Utterly defeated, he allowed Sherlock to take his hand and pull him to the dance floor, where he wrapped himself around Greg much like the vine that was twisted around his own body.  
   
John watched them dance together, swaying and twisting and moving with no thought for anyone but themselves. It was nearly transcendental, for fuck's sake. John cleared his throat with a quick glance around and crossed his legs, quickly pressing down on himself firmly with the palm of his hand. Truth was, he was nearly as far gone as Greg was. Maybe he should make a quick detour to the loo and relieve some of this, um, pressure.  
   
He watched some more as Sherlock wound his long, delicate fingers into the silver hair on the back of Greg's head and lowered his mouth to his neck. John could easily imagine the feeling of those oh-so-sharp teeth pressing down and oh God, there it was, Greg's entire body stiffening as he clutched Sherlock's hips to him hard. Yup, Greg had just popped off in his pants, poor soul, and if he didn't make it to the gents in time, all the way across the fucking club, damn it, it was entirely possible that John would do the same. Goddamn that fucking _beautiful_ man and his fucking _schemes_.  
   
Scheme. Now, why had he thought that? John suddenly found his ardour cooling rather swiftly. As far as he knew, this was just a happy little surprise for Greg, but now he found himself thinking that there was something else, something more here. He glanced around with a new and more observant eye. And there he was. Edward. _'Sherlock, you arse.'_ Edward noticed him at the same time and smiled toothily before heading over.  
   
"So here you are."  
   
John squinted up at him. "Here I am. And why are _you_ here? I thought it had been made very clear to you that we didn't need you anymore."  
   
Edward looked affronted, but not entirely surprised by John's less-than-favourable reaction. "I was invited, you little _prick_. By Greg, thank you very much."  
   
John sighed and shook his head. "No. No, you weren't." He nodded toward the dance floor, where Greg and Sherlock were snogging the hell out of one another, completely oblivious to the other people moving around them. " _Baby_ invited you, no doubt to be witness to something very much like this, and to cement in your head just how much you are not needed. He's a bit of a shit that way."  
   
"That's Baby? Holy fuck, you're a lucky little son of a bitch." John glared. "But it came from Greg's number."  
   
"Of course it did. Baby does so like to pickpocket our dear DI. Not that he really has to when he leaves his phone lying around the flat as much as he does." John looked up at Edward with a bit of sympathy. "I am sorry, Edward. This isn't how I would have preferred for you to find out." Edward blinked down at him, hazel eyes unreadable. John cleared his throat. "Greg's moved in with us. With, um - Sherlock and me."  
   
Edward's eyes zeroed in on the couple on the dance floor. "Sherlock? That's _Sherlock_? Jesus, no wonder." He giggled slightly, shaking his head. "I haven't a chance in hell, have I? _Sherlock_ is Baby. Fuck." He looked back to John accusingly. "You know, if either one of you had just told me that you had hooked up with him, I would have known not to come tonight." He smirked. "I knew it would happen sooner or later. I just didn't expect Sherlock would be so willing to share."

John glared some more. "You were hoping he'd choose me and Greg would be left behind. And then you'd be able to sweep in like the romantic hero to pick up the pieces." Edward shrugged. "Jesus, you really don't see anything beyond yourself and what you want, do you?"

"I usually get what I want, John."  
   
"Didn't work out so well for you this time, did it?" John sighed and put a hand on his arm. "Edward, look. There's something you need to understand. Something that I think Sherlock is trying to demonstrate to you unequivocally, in his own ham-handed, completely self-absorbed way. You never stood a chance in hell of getting Greg back. Even without either of us in the picture. Whatever happened between you two, and Greg hasn't shared details, it broke his trust in you. And that's not something that can ever be mended. Not really." John squeezed his arm gently. "Just - just remember that, okay? Remember that for the next time someone like Greg comes round."  
   
Edward's eyes softened almost against his will and he smiled faintly. "Relationship advice? From Captain John Watson, my ex-lover's lover. Now I've heard everything." He looked down at his feet briefly. "I'll try to remember. But you and I both know that there's nobody else like Greg. He was my chance, and I threw it away. I threw _him_ away."  
   
"Edward..."  
   
"No, don't. I'm fine, really." He blew out a breath. "Can I - can I just say goodbye?"  
   
"Of course. Keep away from Baby, though. I'm fairly certain he grew fangs for just this occasion."  
   
Edward chuckled and pressed into the crowd of people, heading for the couple who were still very much wrapped up in each other. John followed, looking around with bemusement as he took notice of the small circle of free space surrounding them. Although there were a few covetous and even lusty glances, for the most part the men were being left to themselves. Very polite, these goth kids.  
   
Edward cleared his throat as John stepped up next to the couple, placing a hand on their arms. They automatically pulled him into their embrace, Sherlock leaning down to run his enhanced teeth along John's neck. He shivered, his cock instantly going hard again. "You are _such_ a bastard, Sherlock Holmes." There was a baritone chuckle at his ear, and he shivered again. "Arsehole."  
   
Greg looked up at Edward in confusion, and just a touch of dread. "E, what's up? Why are you here? This really isn't your kind of scene."  
   
He nodded at Sherlock. "Baby will explain, I'm sure. I just, well, I just wanted to say goodbye, if that's all right?" Greg pulled away from his lovers and tilted his head at Edward quizzically. He leaned down to embrace him. "I get it now. It's okay, you won't be hearing from me again. But y'know, maybe I'll see you around sometime." Edward took Greg's chin in thumb and forefinger and gave him a lingering kiss, ignoring the faint and rather ineffectual growl emanating from Sherlock's direction. "Goodbye, Gregory Lestrade." He released him and then bent down to kiss John's cheek. "Goodbye, John. It's been - enlightening." John pushed up into it, giving him a small smile and a squeeze on the arm. Sherlock growled again, and Edward suddenly focused on him. "Well done, darling. You've made your point quite clear. No need for further displays of ownership. I know who he belongs to."  
   
Sherlock sneered. "That is the whole point, Edward. He was never yours. _Never_."  
   
Edward simply tilted his head and studied Sherlock for a moment before turning away. "So defensive. I wonder what it is that you're so worried about..." And then he was gone, heading for the exit, resolutely not looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys' continuing adventures at the club on Goth Night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovelies that are sticking by me...
> 
> Please comment, let me know how I'm doing!
> 
> :)

John grasped at Greg's hand as the older man looked after Edward with a bewildered gaze. "C'mon, love, let's see what we can find to clean you up with." Sherlock latched onto Greg's free hand and they pushed their way through the crowd with relative ease, heading toward the playrooms. Once free of the mass of people, Sherlock snugged up to Greg's back, wrapping long arms around his neck and chest.

Greg laughed and paused, tugging on John's hand briefly. John turned and watched as Greg bent slightly, holding his arms out from his sides. "C'mon, then, baby. Hup!" Sherlock grinned wildly and gave a little jump, wrapping his long legs around Greg's waist and holding on as Greg supported his thighs with his hands. " _Oof._ Good thing I've still got footballer's legs, in't it?"

John's tongue flickered out over his lips, his eyes darkening in the dim light as he watched Greg carry Sherlock piggy-back style with very little difficulty. He disappeared down the hallway, finding an empty room and gesturing for them to follow. Greg turned slightly and caught sight of blue fringe over a white face. Stephan's light brown eyes had gone completely black, and he was chewing on his lower lip as he stared at them somewhat absentmindedly.

Greg winked even as he felt the faint growl reverberating through Sherlock's chest pressed up against his back. The boy smiled faintly before tipping his head in a little nod, mouthing, _'We'll talk'_. Greg nodded in return before heading down the hallway to John.

Sherlock growled again, his arms tightening around Greg's torso. "No. _Mine_."

Greg ducked into the room and bent his knees, releasing Sherlock's legs and letting him down on his feet. "He's just gonna send me some info, baby. We're gonna talk music, that's all." He turned in Sherlock's arms, instantly running his hands under the too-tight t-shirt. Sherlock's kohl-lined eyes fluttered at Greg's touch. He licked his way in between plush blood-red-tinged lips and moaned into Sherlock's mouth. "Those _teeth_. Let me feel them, oh God."

Sherlock huffed quietly and opened his mouth, allowing Greg to run his fingers over the artificial fangs gently before taking his mouth once again and flickering his oh-so-nimble tongue over them. Sherlock growled again and pressed closer into Greg's body, grinding his erection into his hip.

"God, oh _God_."

John had watched this from across the room, utterly transfixed. He suddenly shook himself and strode over, insinuating himself in between the two men. John put a hand on Sherlock's chest and pushed him back slightly. "You, go sit down." He turned to Greg. "You, strip. We need to get you somewhat cleaned up before certain articles of clothing become permanently affixed to your genitals."

Both Sherlock and Greg snorted, but obeyed, as John was wearing his _'don't-fuck-with-me-I-swear-you-will-regret-it'_ face. Greg toed off his shoes, but left his socks on, eyeing the somewhat sticky floor with distrust. Off with jeans and his tee, leaving him to peel off his soiled pants with a grimace. He tossed them into the rubbish bin by the door with a scowl.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You just _had_ to go and bite him, didn't you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's voice was a bit petulant. "I simply wanted to see what would happen. I didn't realise that he was so, so - overwrought." He smirked. "I knew that my appearance would most likely inspire such a reaction, but I didn't expect the experience to culminate so rapidly."

John 'tsk'ed as he passed Greg a flannel that he had dampened with some bottled water. He watched with a little glint in his eye as Greg wiped himself down, his lovely thick cock twitching at both Sherlock's outfit and John's scrutiny. "It wasn't all you, Sherlock. We've been here for over an hour already, and the poor man was surrounded by pretty little - gothlings - and listening to hellish music the whole time." He turned to Sherlock. "You're just the cherry on the sundae, love."

"He isn't 'just' anything, John." Sherlock smiled from his exile on the sofa. "But he has a point too, baby. I was already a bit excited, and you - well, you pushed me over the edge a bit, that's all. It really wasn't very nice of you."

"Greg and I don't operate the same way you do, love. We like looking, and interacting, and sometimes our bodies react to that. Greg can be an incredible flirt, and you and I both know how easily excitable he can be."

Sherlock frowned slightly before standing and neatly shedding his t-shirt. He looked down at himself. "I thought you would appreciate this."

" _Ngh_." Greg reached out to grasp at John for support. "Here, baby. Come _here_. Now. Hereherehere." Sherlock smirked and stalked across the room, narrow hips swaying dangerously. "God, oh dear sweet Lord in Heaven above..."

John reached out a hand first, tracing along the edges of the thorny vine that was cascading over Sherlock's shoulder and down his arm. "What is it?"

"Indigo. Cosmetic-grade skin dye, similar to henna. It won't last as long, it'll be gone after a few showers." Sherlock chuckled as Greg made an unhappy little noise in the back of his throat.

John's hand trailed along Sherlock's chest, following the winding path of the vine around one pink nipple. He flicked the ring hanging there with a fingernail, smiling at Sherlock's quick intake of breath. "And these?"

"Magnets. I think they may have to come off soon, there does seem to be some restriction of blood flow to the area."

John hummed. "I rather think that's the idea, love. Similar to clamps."

Greg eyed them hungrily. "I don't suppose you'd consider getting them done for real..."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "I hadn't thought of it, no." He gasped as John and Greg latched on to one nipple each, tongues flickering and teeth nibbling delicately. " _Oh_. But - oh God. Perhaps I could be - _hnggh_ \- persuaded. Oh." He moaned lustily as he threaded his fingers into the hair on the backs of their heads, clutching them both closer. "Damn. That is _ridiculously_ pleasurable."

John hummed again and then tightened down on the ring with his teeth, giving it a good sharp tug. It popped off with a sharp metallic ping, and Sherlock hissed. " _Ow_." John spit the ring into his hand, smiling as he laved his tongue over the abused nub, slowly massaging the life and the blood back into it. Greg took another tack, ignoring the ring itself in favour of nibbling and tugging on the small bit of flesh that was being pinched between the magnets. Sherlock gasped as a bright spike of sensation streaked from the centre of his nipple to his groin. He couldn't even tell if it was pleasure or pain, it was just - incredibly intense. "Oh. Oh, _God_." He hissed as Greg bit down again. "Wait - I just - _oh hell_... I need a moment, I think." Sherlock abruptly pushed them both away and bent at the waist, hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

John frowned as Greg broke out into laughter. "Too close, baby? Just think about that the next time you tease me out in public." Greg crouched by his head. "With you around... Damn, baby. Sometimes I just _look_ at you, and I'm that close. It was bad before, but now, especially now that I know how you feel... You've always been under my skin, Sherlock, but now - oh God. I look at you and I can feel it, can feel _you_ , can hear your heartbeat, my fingers tingle when I even think of caressing your skin. My tongue can _taste_ you, Sherlock, when I see you standing across the room. I see you, and I can feel every part of your body underneath me and damn if it doesn't get me worked up _every_ fucking time."

Sherlock's eyes were huge and black and his face was flushed as he continued to pant quietly. He flashed a quick look to John, who had unconsciously started palming himself through his jeans as Greg spoke. Sherlock straightened and took a small step away from the man crouched on the floor. Greg laughed again. "You see? What would it take for me to get you off right now?" He stood slowly, taking one step forward as Sherlock backed away just a bit more. "One solid kiss, one breathy moan close to your ear? One more tug on that poor abused nipple with my teeth? One stroke through your jeans, just one touch, and I could take you apart right _here and now_ , Sherlock Holmes." Greg moved in, close enough that Sherlock could feel his body heat, but he did not touch. Sherlock straightened his spine and clenched his hands into tight fists, willing his trembling body not to betray him. Greg breathed across his lips. "Should we put my theory to the test?"

"No." Sherlock relaxed minutely as Greg turned to John. His slate-blue eyes were a little flinty, even if his face was just as flushed as Sherlock's. He strode toward the two men and pulled Greg down into a hard and furious kiss. "That fucking mouth of yours, Greg. Jesus." Greg grinned that damnable grin of his and returned John's kiss eagerly. "But no, we shouldn't put your theory to the test, because I'm quite sure it's correct. And I'm not at all sure that Sherlock should be rewarded for his rather atrocious behaviour this evening."

Greg cocked his head. "How do you mean?"

John raised a hand and poked Greg in the sternum. "That is precisely what I mean." He gestured vaguely at the vision of Sherlock done up like a goth god. "This. This was calculated not just to drive you to the brink and give you some lovely memories to wank to for the rest of your life, my love. It was also calculated to distract you, so that you would be oblivious to the rest of his little scheme."

Greg raised an eyebrow as Sherlock cleared his throat. "John..."

John glared, and Sherlock shut his mouth with a snap. "That's right. You just keep quiet." He turned back to Greg. "Edward was here on his invitation, love. Via your mobile, of course. He thought he was here at your request, and then he had to witness that epic post-orgasmic snog out in the middle of the bloody dance floor." John reached out to give Sherlock a little shove. "You actually made me feel _sorry_ for that giant arsehole!"

Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration. "You said it yourself, John. We needed something to make him understand completely. Some way to make it perfectly clear that he was done. Well, I would say that I accomplished that goal rather admirably, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, _Sherlock_." Sherlock stepped back in astonishment at the crestfallen look on Greg's face. "I'm - disappointed in you, baby. There are ways to break things off without hurting people. I could have made him understand, if you had just given me some time, if you had been patient. It's not okay to treat people that way." He tilted his head and reached out to cup Sherlock's cheek. "But I think I understand why you did what you did, so maybe it's a bit of a draw..."

John harrumphed quietly. "Oh? And what motivations could he have that would make - that - acceptable?"

Greg drew Sherlock closer before turning back to John. "He's afraid, John. Uncertain and insecure. He's threatened by my history with Edward, one that goes back just as far as my history with him. I met Sherlock and Edward on the same night. If - if circumstances had been different, it's entirely possible that I would have bedded Sherlock rather than Edward." Greg paused and considered. "Although it's more accurate to say that Edward bedded me."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Greg's neck with a soft sigh. "We would have had so much more time together."

"There's no guarantee of that, baby. We would have made mistakes too, and there's no telling where we would be now. The past is gone, my love. What we have now is what matters. Now, and all the days to come, yeah?" Sherlock just nodded and held on as Greg kissed his temple. "I think you and I are going to have to walk a bit of a thin line, you know."

Sherlock pulled back with a frown and John cleared his throat. "How do you mean, love?"

Greg fidgeted slightly. "The whole jealousy thing. I, well - I find that I like it. A _bit_ , anyway. I like that Sherlock is somewhat possessive. But." He held out a finger to Sherlock's sly smirk. "I also like to flirt, as you said, John. It's a bit of an ego-boost in my increasing dotage, and sometimes it's even necessary." Sherlock made a disbelieving noise. "You can't tell me that you've never fluttered your eyelashes at someone to get information, baby. I've seen you do it. Sometimes, I have to do the same. That's all. So, a little bit of possessiveness now and again would be appreciated, just don't go overboard."

Sherlock tutted. "How will I know?"

"Oh, I think you'll be able to figure it out for the most part. If not, I will tell you. Like that boy out in the hall. Stephan. You're not to do anything to him, is that understood?"

"But he wants you. I can tell."

"He's _half_ my bloody age. That will never happen. That's the other side of the jealousy coin, Sherlock. Trust. I can understand you not trusting other people, because you don't know them or their motivations. But you _must_ trust me. I would never do anything with another man without your knowledge and explicit consent. Never. Understand?"

"And what if I don't wish to give consent? Ever."

"Then it's you and me and John. For always."

"What if we aren't enough?"

Greg blinked at him incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me? Have you _seen_ you two? For God's sake, I may as well have won a goddamn man lottery. Speaking of, you gotta strip down, baby. I need to see the rest of it. Please." Sherlock bent down to unlace his boots without further delay and Greg leant in to John's ear. "You too, love. I want to see that tight little body bare-arsed."

John shuddered, hands already working on his belt and zip. He stripped down quickly and went to toss both his clothes and Greg's into the convenient wardrobe. His eyes skimmed over the various paraphernalia hanging there and he smirked before tugging something down. He inspected it closely, looking for suspicious stains or well-worn bindings. Oh, yes. Just the thing. He grabbed a clean sheet and then went to the cabinet for supplies. Condoms, flannels and lube. Oh, and another little prop that would most likely come in handy. Damn, he was beginning to think he loved this place. By the time he had set up the sofa to his satisfaction, Sherlock was nude. Aside from his socks, of course, which was the one article of clothing that all of them had thought better of discarding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another continuation of Goth Night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisses, all!
> 
> Do let me know if you're enjoying my nonsense. Thank you!

Greg was circling Sherlock slowly, almost like a wolf scenting prey. Whoever had laid the pattern down on his skin, they had done a remarkable job. For the most part, the vine wound its way down the sides of his body, ribs and arms and legs, giving the appearance of something akin to racing stripes. But it also followed his natural curves, and would occasionally reach out in a little questing offshoot, wrapping around pectorals and nipples, the hollows of his hips and up and over the line of his neatly trimmed pubic hair, reaching up to circle the sweet little indentation of his navel. Sherlock's backside was truly a wonder to behold, the vine coming up and around and then down, cupping that glorious bounty as dearly as any lover's gentle grip.

Greg continued to circle, biting his lip hard as his eyes travelled up and down, up and down. John saw his determination begin to waver as his eyes lingered on that gorgeous arse. There was no doubting that when it came to the individual parts of a man, Gregory Lestrade would always gravitate toward the backside. That was something that both his lovers knew well, and John could easily imagine Sherlock instructing his body painter to pay special attention to his bum. _'Frame it'_ , he would have said. _'Make it look like a piece of art'_. As if Sherlock Holmes' arse could be anything but art, blue vine or no...

"We should take photos." Greg's voice was low and gravelly, and Sherlock smirked even as his cock jumped at the sound.

"The artist I saw took quite a number for her portfolio. I have already requested that she email me copies."

"Good thinking, yes. But I was thinking more along the lines of - well. I wonder how the design on your arse would look when I've got your hole stretched around my cock, that's all." Both John and Sherlock twitched violently. "That, I think, is something that I would rather like to have a permanent record of."

Greg circled around to Sherlock's front again, eyeing his straining cock with interest. John stepped up next to him and they both watched as a clear pearl of pre-come beaded up on the tip before slowly, slowly dripping down the length. Sherlock's fists clenched even tighter. "Is someone going to touch me or no? Because I am not too proud to just take care of the situation myself." He huffed. "No? Fine - _fine_!" He held up his hands in surrender briefly, and that's when John took hold of one delicate wrist.

He led Sherlock to the sofa and sat him down. "No. This is what's going to happen. You will watch Greg fuck me senseless, and you will not be allowed to touch yourself at all." Sherlock sputtered as John crossed his arms over his chest and proceeded to wrap him in some kind of restraint. "I believe I understand your motivations for this evening as Greg has explained them, but that does not mean that your actions are acceptable, Sherlock. I'm still angry with you, and if you are smart, you will take your punishment for now. You and I both know that Greg will not be able to resist your arse once we get home, so it's not like you won't get something for your efforts. But Greg made me a promise earlier that he was going to have me, and well, I'd rather like first dance, if that's quite all right with you."

Sherlock blinked rapidly. He'd been distracted during John's little speech, and the good doctor had taken clear advantage of said distraction, immobilising Sherlock's arms quite effectively. He struggled briefly, but quickly realised that it was no good. The broad leather strap that encircled his chest was secured quite snugly, but permitted easy respiration. The cuffs were also leather, and also firmly secured. Sherlock tugged ineffectually at the hook connecting them to the front of the chest strap. He whimpered slightly as John also cuffed his upper arms and attached them to the chest strap as well. _Damn_. Sherlock had been thinking that it would be relatively easy to wriggle the chest strap down to groin level, but that little addition made it quite impossible.

John chuckled. "I don't know why criminals bother with ropes and all that. They should just go down to their local sex shop to stock up on restraints. Much more effective."

Sherlock sniffed haughtily. "I could get out if I really wanted to. I think that I'd like to see you play your little game, Doctor Watson."  
   
John smirked. "You sound like a clichéd Bond villain, Sherlock."  
   
"If that were the case, then you'd be the one wearing this - contraption." Sherlock sniffed and somehow managed to look superior as he elegantly crossed his long legs. "Go on, then. Torment me."  
   
John opened his mouth to retort, but there was a low growl behind him and Greg's arms were suddenly wrapped around him tightly. His hard cock pressed insistently against the crack of John's arse, and he could only moan in response. Another growl, teeth in his neck, and John's legs may or may not have wobbled. "Can't guarantee that I'll last long, love. Not with the way you've got him all wrapped up, looking like a bloody gift just waiting to be opened. _Plundered._ Jesus fucking Christ."  
   
" _Unf._ You came not ten minutes ago! Rather spectacularly, judging by the state of the pants you just binned." John heaved out a breath and gestured at the pile of goodies on the sofa. "There's a - oh good fucking Lord. C'mere." Greg released him somewhat reluctantly as John rifled through the pile of brightly coloured packets. He quickly found what he was searching for and simply ripped it open with his teeth. Sherlock snorted, but quickly silenced himself as John glared. "That's right. You keep that bloody mouth of yours shut, or I will gag you."

Sherlock smirked and let his eyes wander down John's body, stopping and widening with delight at the sight of his hard cock, flushed red and already weeping with pre-come. John shook his head. "No, not like that. You'd enjoy it too much." He turned to Greg and stretched out the cheap disposable cock-ring before slipping it on him with an easy, practised motion. "Not the best quality, but it should hold you long enough to bugger me silly."

Greg took hold of John's face in both hands and bent down to snog him fiercely. "Have I told you how brilliant you are?"

"Not in the past couple of days, no."

"You are amazingly brilliant."

John breathed out a quiet laugh against Greg's mouth before turning back to the sofa and to Sherlock. He straddled the younger man's thighs and reached out to support himself on his shoulders before arching his back and sticking out his arse. "Open me up, Gregory. Get me nice and slick for you."

Greg's eyes met Sherlock's startled expression over John's shoulder. Greg grinned and chuckled low, reaching for a packet of lube. He ripped it open and slicked up his fingers before snugging up close, staring deep into Sherlock's eyes as he mouthed at John's neck. "Brilliant, and oh so wicked, Captain Watson." He circled his fingers slowly around John's hole, delighting in every little twitch of his lover's body as he gently eased one finger in.

Sherlock shivered at John's low moan, biting his lip and throwing back his head. John began to rock slowly, rolling his hips back into Greg's hand, rubbing himself against Sherlock's belly. Each touch was like a branding iron being pressed into his flesh, so hard and so hot that he almost felt scorched by it. Oh God, it was utter torture, and there was no way he would be able to stand it.

"John, please. Oh God, Greg - I _can't_."

John's eyes flared dangerously before he stuffed three fingers into Sherlock's mouth, effectively preventing another word from being uttered. "You can, and you _will_ , Sherlock. Keep your mouth shut, and maybe I'll let you come before we leave this room." John groaned as Greg slipped a second finger in, circling and thrusting with increasing urgency. "Fuck, yes. Come on, love. _Mm_." Sherlock's eyes rolled back as he sucked on John's fingers, John in turn bending down slightly to tongue at his throat as Greg added a third finger. John drew away from Sherlock and pushed against Greg hard. "Your cock, Gregory. Now."

Greg took John by the back of the neck with one hand and let his fingers slide out of his bum. He gently directed him so that John was bent over the arm of the sofa, his face planted in the sheet-covered cushion. He smirked as he unwrapped a condom and rolled it over himself. "So, baby. Do you think you can manage without John's fingers stopping up that gorgeous mouth of yours, or should I go get a gag, make it easy on you?"

Sherlock slowly licked his lips and shook his head gently. He was ready to beg and plead, but he knew it wouldn't get him what he wanted. What he wanted was to beg and plead while Greg was buried in him to the hilt, but he was going to be forced to watch John have that privilege first. He wasn't quite sure if that counted as a pleasure or as a punishment, though.

Greg tilted his head. "Was that, 'no, I can't manage', or 'no, don't get a gag'?" Sherlock's eyebrows turned inward in frustration as John let out a muffled giggle. He bit his lip harder and held up two fingers to indicate the second choice. Greg nodded slowly and moved behind John, carefully coating his sheathed cock with lube. He took a moment to knead at John's arse-cheeks, bending down swiftly to sink his teeth into one side and then the other. "Your arse, my love -  _Jesus_. The things I want to do to this arse..." Greg lined himself up and shivered at John's anticipatory groan, finally sliding in, moving steadily until he was buried in balls-deep.

John's spine dipped as he pushed back into Greg, his hands clutching at the sheet covering the sofa. He raised his head briefly, catching Sherlock's eye, and the younger man once again bit down on his lip to stifle a heady moan. That look, that satisfactory little gleam, oh - he knew exactly where that look was coming from; Sherlock could almost feel it himself. He slithered sideways on the sofa and drew his knees up to his chest, against his immobilised hands. He smiled slowly as John looked up at him and winked, knowing that he was going to be in for quite a show, and that if he was good, maybe he would be allowed to participate before too long. 

Greg sighed in bliss as he ran his broad hands up John's spine, laying his body down as he moved. He tongued at the scar on his lover's left shoulder, smiling as little ripples of pleasure cascaded through the body trapped underneath his. John turned his head, watching Greg's face out of the corner of his eye as he moved gently within him. "Gregory..."

"Oh, yes, Captain." A sharp snap of his hips, a wicked smile as John gasped in delight. "My Captain."

" _Mm_. You haven't had me like this since we took up with Sherlock."

Greg quirked an eyebrow and kissed his cheek. "It's only been a week, my love. More or less."

John sighed as Greg thrust again. "Feels like a lifetime." 

"Any time you want me, any way you want me. All you have to do is ask." Greg nosed behind John's ear, inhaling deeply, before biting at the back of his neck. "I'd do anything to make you happy, John." He slid his arms underneath John's torso. "You know that, right?"

John reached back with one hand, combing through Greg's silver hair. "I do, my love." A soft sound was pushed from his throat as Greg snapped his hips again. "Oh yes." John tightened his hold in his lover's hair. " _Again_ , love. Fuck yes, just like that."   

Greg growled in assent, his teeth set firmly at the back of John's neck, moving the way he knew John liked, slow and steady and oh-so-deep, alternating with swift hard thrusts every now and again. John writhed underneath him, sighing and gasping and moaning with increasing urgency.

Sherlock sat perfectly still, as if spellbound, his own desperate need nearly forgotten as he watched the men he loved loving each other. John cried out as a particularly fierce thrust stroked against his prostate firmly. Greg moaned quietly, and in a sudden move, pulled both his body and John's upright, holding him tightly as he snapped his hips viciously.

John somehow managed to get one knee up on the arm of the sofa, bracing himself as he arched his back and pushed back against Greg's sharp movements. Every motion was punctuated with some exclamation or other, steadily increasing in volume as John began to reach his crescendo.

"Oh, _fuck_. Yes, love. You're ready to come, aren't you? You want to give Sherlock there a nice show, don't you?" John nodded wordlessly, his slate-blue eyes gone utterly black with arousal. Sherlock swiftly unfolded himself and crawled awkwardly over to the joined couple, leaning in to lay claim to John's lips. With a strangled groan, John wrapped his free arm around his waist and pulled him in closer, rutting furiously against his firm belly as Greg continued to stroke into him.

Sherlock's body shuddered with delight and he let loose a small moan into John's mouth that the smaller man echoed before he threw his head back and came soundlessly, his hot release washing over Sherlock's skin. Greg stopped moving, allowing John to use him as he wished, rolling his hips gently, riding out the aftershocks. With one last full-body shudder, John let himself go limp, his hand sliding off the back of Greg's head, his arm releasing its death-grip on Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock looked to Greg, who nodded slightly, and the younger man backed away toward his own corner of the sofa. Greg withdrew from John with a quiet hiss and gently deposited his seemingly catatonic body down on the sofa. John's head lolled against the back rest and he reached out with trembling fingers to caress Sherlock's leg as Greg went to relieve himself of both condom and cock-ring. Sherlock shifted uncertainly, reclining against the arm rest, shifting his knees apart with a hopeful glance at the man on the other end of the sofa.

John grinned as he recovered and winked at him, running his hands a little further up and - oh _yes_ \- between. Sherlock shivered, his back arching involuntarily at John's touch. Greg smiled gently down at them as Sherlock stretched one leg out and behind John, subtly attempting to nudge him closer to the target and failing utterly. John rolled his eyes and stopped caressing until Sherlock stilled again.

Greg chuckled and straddled John's lap, bringing his hands up to cradle his face as he kissed him deeply, tenderly. "I think he's been very good, love. Don't you?"

John sighed and slipped his hand in between their bodies, stroking Greg's cock with a light touch. "Extraordinary, really."

"Perhaps he deserves a little bit of relief, then?" Greg moaned quietly, rolling his hips into John's hand.

"And what about you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I think I'll just... Hm. Yes. I'll just pull myself off and add to that lovely mess you left behind on his belly, love. While he fucks himself on your fingers, of course."

Sherlock's body arched again and he had to bite down hard to muffle his whine. After all, even though they were finally talking about getting him off, they had not given him explicit permission to speak yet. He looked up at Greg pleadingly, a little frown on his face.

"Oh, baby. I know, sweetheart, I know. You want me to fuck you." Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, causing John to giggle relentlessly. "We're gonna save that for when we get home. We're gonna dig out that fancy camera that your brother gave you last Christmas, and John is going to become quite the expert with it." Greg reached out to trace the pattern circling Sherlock's navel. "I want lots and lots and _lots_ of photographic evidence of me absolutely _defiling_ you."

John's hand twitched and tightened on Greg's cock, wringing a deep groan out of the man on his lap. "Jesus, love."

Greg wrapped his fingers around John's wrist and squeezed lightly. " _Mm_." John released him and he dug around on the tangled sheet briefly, finally coming up with another packet of lube. He tore it open and slicked himself up before drizzling it on John's hand and Sherlock's nicely reddened prick. Greg backed off from John's lap, and nodded. Sherlock eagerly spread his legs as John cupped his bollocks, rolling them gently in the palm of his hand as he ran one finger along his perineum and then lower.

Greg sighed as Sherlock moaned. "Oh _yes_. Lots of photos of that gorgeous body, all laid out for me. Photos of those delightful little nipple rings, shining in the light, my spit all over them, your poor abused little nubs in between my teeth, Sherlock. Photos of those luscious blood-red lips around my cock, my fingers caught in your hair, that kohl running down your cheeks because you're absolutely _gagging_ on me, baby. I'm going to fuck that pretty pretty mouth of yours and you're gonna beg me for more, aren't you?" Sherlock threw his head back, teeth clenched hard as his hips pistoned against John's fingers. Greg's fist was flying over his cock now, his own words and John's intense stare beginning to set him off. "That's right. You're gonna beg and cry for more. Because I _know you_ , Sherlock. I know that you'll always want more. And I'm gonna give it to you. I'm gonna bend you in half and I'm gonna fuck all the breath from your body." Greg's hips stuttered as his orgasm ripped through him and he leaned over Sherlock's prone form, grasping the back of the sofa with one hand as he unloaded onto his white belly. " _Fuck me_ \- oh Jesus Christ, yes." He panted. "No breath, no blood, no nothing - but me. Only _me_. In you, on you. Covering you, invading you. I'm gonna take you over, Sherlock."

With that, he bent down swiftly and swallowed him down, giving one solid pull of his mouth and tongue. Sherlock howled and came hard, his entire body twitching madly against both of his lovers. Greg hummed and sucked languidly, capturing everything and swallowing it down. He pulled off to find Sherlock looking at him absolutely wild-eyed and John's face blazing bright-red, his cock already beginning to fill out again. 

Greg licked his lips and looked down at them as innocently as he could manage. Sherlock wriggled, his bound hands making little grabby motions until Greg bent down over him for a kiss. Sherlock surged up against him, tongue and lips moving furiously, his prosthetic fangs nearly catching on Greg's tongue. Greg moaned and pulled him up by the chest strap, swiftly repositioning his body so he could straddle him and relax into his body for a truly epic snog. 

John chuckled behind him, a sharp huff of breath ghosting over his ear as he leaned in to mouth and nibble at Greg's neck. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ, that mouth of yours. Should be classified as a goddamn deadly weapon, my love."

" _Mm_." Greg disengaged from Sherlock's mouth, smiling as the younger man refused to let him go, licking and biting and kissing wherever he could easily reach. He arched back into John's body, rubbing against his burgeoning erection. "Want me to take care of that, love?"

Sherlock abruptly broke his enforced silence. "No, he wants to go home. Don't you, John? We'd all like to go _home_ now."

John giggled and Greg chuckled, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls. "I dunno. I think I may have a dance or two left in me. What do you think, my love?" 

"Oh, Gregory. You always have a dance or two left in you. I might have room for another pint, myself."

Sherlock literally stamped his foot in a fit of pique. "No! I want to go home!" He blushed at the looks that were levelled at him before glancing down, his lips trembling minutely. "Please?"

John nodded as Greg started to work the buckles on the leather straps loose. "All right, love. Let's get somewhat cleaned up and then we'll go home."

Greg leant in to Sherlock's ear to whisper as John walked away. "And then we'll get messy again, huh, baby?" Sherlock's eyes lit up and he giggled. Greg did the only thing he could, and hauled him in for another passionate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are all clean, and well, that just calls for some filthiness, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that I haven't posted in this portion of the saga for a while, since I've been so wrapped up in Lestrade/Watson/Holmes(x2!) and their continuing adventures...
> 
> So, here's a bit of bonding between Greg/John/Sherlock _before_ Mycroft got tossed into the mix. Next chapter or two or so will be a sort of hurt/comfort thing, and I know that gets some people's engines revving, so...
> 
> Anyhow, please comment - they keep me going!
> 
> Thank you!

Greg walked into 221B, completely bypassing both the sitting room and kitchen, choosing instead to head for the bedroom, where he threw himself face down on the bed.

"Long day, love?"

Greg turned his head slightly, caught sight of John emerging from the bathroom in nothing but a towel. His skin was still damp and pink from the shower, his hair dark with water.

" _Mmph_." Greg turned his face back to the mattress.

John laughed. "Perhaps a shower will make you feel better?" Greg shrugged, determined to ride out his strop with as little dignity as possible. John laughed again, and reached out to smack him on the arse. "Go on. I have some good news for you, but I'm not sharing until you're in a better mood. And clean." Greg turned his head again, squinting up at John suspiciously. "I want you very clean, Gregory." John winked.

Greg rolled onto his back and then sat up. "What are you on about?"

John rolled his eyes before hauling Greg to his feet by the lapels of his mack. "Strip and shower. Now, Gregory. Make sure that every bit of you is thoroughly clean. Go." He turned Greg toward the bathroom and smacked his arse again.

Greg snorted and started to strip, leaving a trail of shed clothing and shoes from the bedroom to the shower. John sighed heavily and started picking up after him. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, towel snug around his waist, John was lying on his belly in the middle of the bed, bare-arse naked. Greg slipped into the bed on John's left side and draped an arm around his waist.

"All spic-n-span, Captain Watson. So what's this news of yours?"

John turned his face to Greg's, his eyes sparkling. "I got the test results back today. We're all clean."

Greg scrambled to his knees and crouched over John's backside. Without preamble, he simply parted John's cheeks and licked a long wet stripe up the cleft of his arse. They both shivered.

"Does Sherlock know?"

"Of course he does. He knew when I came home from the clinic. He just smiled that insufferably smug smile and said, 'Good. I told you I was clean.' Then he disappeared downstairs."

"We should get him up here. Have a proper orgy."

John laughed. "Is it a proper orgy when there's only three?"

Greg considered. "Perhaps it is when one of the three is Sherlock Holmes..."

John snorted. "He knows you're home, and you know how he gets when we interrupt his experiments. He'll come up when he wants to." John wiggled his arse. "In the meantime, I know that there's something you've wanted to do for quite a long time, and I'd rather like for you to do it now."

Greg's body shuddered as he ran his fingers along John's skin. "Say it, John. I want to hear you say it."

John smiled wickedly. "Eat my arse, Gregory. I want you to tongue-fuck me until I'm begging for your cock."

Greg shuddered again. "Oh, yes sir."

John parted his legs as Greg settled onto his stomach behind him. He ran his hands up the back of John's thighs to his arse, clutching and kneading the firm flesh. John shivered at the touch of Greg's breath ghosting over his skin. Greg began with small kisses on thigh and cheek, ran his nose along the cleft of John's arse. He sighed.

"I've wanted this for so _long_..."

John wriggled under him. "I know, my love."

"I don't even know where to start."

John laughed. "You start by sticking out your tongue."

Greg growled and bit into the perfect globe of his left cheek. "Smartarse."

John giggled and then gasped as Greg firmly parted his cheeks and started tonguing a wide spiral around his arsehole, never quite touching it, coming oh-so-close and then shying away. John writhed, tensing slightly every time it seemed that Greg would finally go 'there', leaving him desperately wanting when he didn't.

"Stop being such a tease!"

Greg chuckled and John shivered as his breath tickled at his hole. "Who, me? When have I ever teased you, John?"

"Only every _single_ time we fuck, Gregory. Now get to it."

"Is that an order, Captain, my Captain?"

John practically growled. "What do you think?" His next utterance was just a long string of letters as Greg hastily obeyed orders, fluttering just the tip of his tongue on John's arsehole. "Ffffuuu... Hmm... Jeeeeezussss..."

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh and set to work, tonguing and licking and kissing and biting wherever he could easily reach. It was during John's third recitation of nonsense words that Sherlock entered the room.

"Ah. I see that you've shared the good news with Greg." John weakly raised a hand in acknowledgement before spitting a curse into his pillow as Greg pointed his tongue and began to wriggle it into his hole. Greg hummed and worked his way in deeper, thrusting his tongue in and out of John.

Sherlock watched with interest before starting to strip. Greg looked up from his task and smiled at him. "Going to join us, then?"

Sherlock simply arched a brow at him before reaching over and ripping the towel off of Greg's waist. "On your knees."

"Oh, Jesus." John hastily flipped over. "This I gotta see." Greg grinned at him and stuffed a pillow under John's hips before taking position. He continued to tongue John's arse from on his knees, unsure of what Sherlock had in mind, but sure that he was going to enjoy it.

Greg let out a startled yelp at the first touch. "Christ, Sherlock! Is that your nose or a fucking ice cube?" He threw a look over his shoulder, steadfastly ignoring John's giggles. "Doesn't the lab have heating?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Interferes with my experiments. It'll warm up soon enough." He smiled slowly. "Besides - " He dipped his head, running his frozen nose along the cleft of Greg's arse. Greg hissed in a short breath and tried to angle away, but Sherlock captured his hips and then followed the icy trail with a very wet and very hot tongue.

Greg absolutely melted. " _Ohhhh..._ " He buried his face in John's belly and squirmed as Sherlock continued the precise application of freezing cold nose and then hot wet tongue until the former came up to room temperature. John tugged at Greg's silver hair and smirked as he turned utterly dazed eyes on him. Greg grinned stupidly in return.

"Back to work, Gregory."

"Mm." He bent to his task once more, tongue nimble but languid against and within John's flesh. John watched Greg's hips roll and push back against Sherlock's mouth, quickly realising that it wouldn't take much more than Greg's tongue to set him off, especially if he kept moaning in that particular way.

Sherlock came up on his knees and smiled wickedly at John before starting to work a finger into Greg. John gasped as Greg's tongue thrust in deeper and positively vibrated with his loud groan. "Greg, I want to fuck you." John threw his head back as another groan buzzed within him, Greg's head bobbing vigorously in assent. "John, what do you want?"

Greg chose that moment to withdraw slightly, swirling his tongue around John's bollocks and humming before licking up his cock and swallowing him down, bobbing twice before releasing him and working his way back down again. Another soft hum around his bollocks, Greg's fingers clutching hard at his inner thighs, spreading him open even further.

"I want - oh Jesus - I want to watch you fuck him and I want to come on Greg's tongue." Another pleased hum, a gentle nip on his perineum, causing John to stiffen in surprise and delight. "Oh, fuck!"

Sherlock grinned and reached for the bedside table, going for the lube and a condom. John quirked an eyebrow and Sherlock suddenly laughed. "That's right - we don't need these anymore, do we?" He casually tossed the foil packet over his shoulder before slicking up his fingers and shoving two into Greg without ceremony.

John squealed in response to Greg's reaction, and there was a muffled chuckle as Greg attempted to recreate the noise. Greg pulled away slightly as Sherlock added another finger, taking a moment to breathe. "Baby, _please_. I want to feel you, I want to know how it feels when you pulse and come deep inside. God, I want to feel you all slick and slippery and I want to feel you running down my legs oh _God_."

Sherlock snarled. "Well, then you better shut your mouth because if you keep on like that I won't fucking make it inside you at all. So put that mouth to better use, you filthy bastard."

John grasped hold of Greg's silver hair with both hands and shoved him back toward his target. "And stay down!" John squirmed again as Greg laughed outright, his hot breath wafting over and into his somewhat loosened hole. "Oh, Jesus..." He allowed Greg to pull away slightly as Sherlock positioned himself and then slowly pressed all the way in. He bit his lip at the expression on Greg's face, a quiet and deep ecstasy. "Oh, love..."

Both Sherlock and Greg winked at him, and his body shivered with delight. Greg moaned low as Sherlock moved within him slightly. "Baby, you feel so... _ngh_."

Sherlock let out a shaky breath. "You're so much hotter, Greg." He slid in and out again. "So much slicker, Jesus." He began to angle his cock this way and that, just feeling his way around inside.

Greg breathed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Experiment later, you silly git. The first time bare - it should be for fucking, baby. So fuck me already."

Sherlock snarled once more, smacking Greg hard on the arse. "Shouldn't you be doing something with that tongue of yours? Something _other_ than talking back?" He huffed and then pulled out nearly all the way before smoothly thrusting back in deep.

"Oh _yes_ , baby. Just like that." Greg hummed as he once more bent to his task, taking a moment to lavish a little attention on John's oh-so-perfect cock before burying his face in between his cheeks again.

Sherlock continued to move steadily, using John's vocalisations to judge the state of Greg's pleasure. He snapped his hips abruptly, and catalogued the particular squeal that motion generated, before thrusting in slow and deep and pausing for just a moment before pulling Greg's hips into him hard and pushing in just that much deeper. He smiled as John's eyes rolled back and he let loose a long, drawn-out groan. Oh, now that was interesting.

He did it again to see if the results would be replicated, and oh yes, that same sound from deep in John's chest, head thrown back against the pillows and golden neck exposed beautifully. There was a muffled moan as Greg dipped his spine and rolled his hips and bloody well pushed back into him even further, taking him as deep as he could and Sherlock couldn't prevent his own mouth from opening and letting his own string of praise come tumbling out.

" _Ah_ , mon Dieu... Mon - mon coeur."

John fisted his left hand in Greg's hair and took himself in hand with the right. He gasped as he clutched Greg hard to him and started to stroke firmly. "The French has started up already, my love. Seems you're in for a short ride this time..."

Greg came up for air, briefly cross-eyed as he watched John's hand moving over his cock right in front of his nose. "Oh, but we've time for more later, my sweet. All the time in the world." He lapped at the head of John's cock and then dove back down, thrusting his tongue in as deep as he could before simply wiggling it around. John yelped and laughed and cursed all at once, locking eyes with Sherlock over Greg's back, watching as the younger man's mouth trembled and tripped over all of those lush French vowels, his benediction to his lover, the penultimate offering before his hips stuttered in their rhythm and he came, head thrown back, throat locked around a wild cry.

What Greg did then, as he felt Sherlock pulsing and spurting deep within, even he could not say later, but whatever it was, it sent John right over the edge as well, although he had not been expecting it to happen at that particular moment, so his aim was a bit - well - _off_ , and when Greg finally emerged from the wonderland of his lover's fine, fine arse, it was with a bit of his lover's thick and pearly come dangling from his fringe.

John blinked back into himself and then bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud as Greg peered up at him, one eye squinted closed against the possibility of the blasted stuff falling into it and potentially blinding him for life. John hastily wiped it away and grinned apologetically.

"Oops."

"Oops? That's all?"

"Well... You took me by surprise, my love. You're quite good, you know. That was spectacular. Especially that last bit, obviously."

Greg grinned at the praise and then frowned slightly. "I don't even know what I did."

"You'll have the opportunity to figure it out later, I'm sure." 

And then Greg groaned and hissed as Sherlock withdrew, settling back on his heels before reaching out with both hands to grasp at his arse, his thumbs running gently from his loosened hole to perineum and lower. "Greg..." Sherlock's voice was reverent. "Oh." Greg smiled at John and flexed his inner muscles slightly, eyes fluttering at Sherlock's sharp intake of breath. "Oh. That's me." Another light touch as he traced the path of the come that was beginning to drip out. "Oh. I'm inside you, Greg..."

John pushed at Greg's shoulders gently. "Sit up for just a bit." Greg quirked an eyebrow, but complied, watching as John scrambled to his knees and crawled over next to Sherlock. He shuddered slightly, feeling as Sherlock's release started to run out of him at a quicker pace. "Back down, my love." Greg settled down onto his elbows again, moaning as two pairs of hands started roaming over his backside, as long fingers started to work inside him gently, as a nimble but firm tongue ran over his inner thigh, licking up the mess Sherlock left behind, the mess that he was even now shoving in and out of him with the _filthiest_ noises Greg had ever heard in his life and good Lord it was magnificent.

A whispered conference, but Greg was already too far gone to pay any bit of attention, so when two pairs of hands withdrew only to gently manoeuvre his body onto his back, he simply rolled with them, keeping himself as limp and pliable as possible. He kept his eyes closed, because he knew that if he looked at either of his lovers looking at him right now, he wouldn't last long enough for even one of them to lay hands or a mouth on him - he would simply explode. But that didn't mean that he wasn't aware of exactly who was doing what to him, oh no - he knew Sherlock's fingers, he knew John's breath.

So when John laid down next to him and traced over his lips with a gentle touch and then started to lean in, Greg stopped him briefly. "John, are you sure? I thought - "

"That I wouldn't want to touch you, want to kiss you after your tongue had been in my arse?" Greg shrugged, eyes still firmly closed. "Oh, Gregory. Quite the opposite. I want to taste myself on you, my love. Especially after you made me feel so fucking _good_. Jesus, so good."

Greg hummed and turned into him and no, there was no hesitation as John took his face in both hands and kissed him, gently at first and then with such enthusiasm that Greg had to pull away slightly to breathe, but John followed him, chasing his mouth, licking and nibbling at his cheeks and jawline. Greg shuddered, clutching John to him and then felt another tongue at work, also gentle at first, lapping at inner thigh and bollocks and then lower, dipping into his hole and wriggling slightly, not much, not too deep, just enough to make him gasp and roll his hips and then he moaned and perhaps Sherlock heard the desperation in it, because rather than tasting and testing and taking mental notes, he slid two fingers into Greg's slick hole and then swallowed him down.

Greg's body arched and Sherlock worked him gently but firmly, thrusting his fingers in time to the bobs of his head, tugging at his bollocks with nimble fingers, humming against Greg's hard flesh as his broad fingers came down to tangle in his hair, needing to feel that contact as he kissed John fiercely and bounced his hips into Sherlock's hot, willing mouth and then he was crying out in relief as his muscles tensed and he came, clutching both of his lovers to him hard.

Sherlock hummed again, keeping his fingers buried deep as he swallowed and licked his lips. John twisted his torso slightly, resting his cheek on Greg's heaving chest. "Next time, love, you'll save some for me, right?"

Greg groaned as Sherlock and John giggled slightly. "Oh God, you two are going to bloody well kill me."

"Hell of a way to go, being shagged to death by two - if I may be so bold - utterly gorgeous blokes."

"Two fantastic, wonderful, marvellous, fucking gorgeous specimens of manhood, yes. And you're all mine. You're right John, that would be one hell of a way to go." Greg blew out a breath and then nudged Sherlock gently with one leg. "Go shower, baby. Make sure that plush arse of yours is clean."

Sherlock frowned from where he had settled, his head pillowed in the hollow of Greg's hip. "Why?"

"Because next go-round, John's gonna ride my cock and you're gonna sit on my face. Go on." With nothing but a startled growl and swift fierce bite on Greg's inner thigh, Sherlock was gone in a flash.

John laughed at the satisfied glow on his lover's face and then tugged him upright. "No reason why we couldn't clean up too, Gregory."

"Waste of water. We'll have to do it all again in an hour or so..."

John paused and frowned. "I'll talk to Mrs. Hudson about paying a bit more for the water bill." He slid off the bed and grasped Greg's hand, and he allowed himself to be pulled up and out of bed, shaking his head as he followed that frankly astonishingly beautiful and delightfully tasty arse into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is something that I wrote quite early on, but was holding onto for some reason. I guess my boys just felt that they had to have a lot of sex first, or something...
> 
> Anyhow, I wasn't planning on posting this until next week, but I'm kind of proud of the follow-up, which is what I'm writing now. Since I really really want to get to that bit, I have to give you guys this bit first, right? 
> 
> So, a bit of hurt (nothing too damaging, I promise) in this chapter, and the comfort is to follow.
> 
> Please do let me know how I'm doing - honestly, the comments are what keep me going.
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies...

Greg looked down on the body with dismay. Young thing, barely seventeen if she was a day. Pretty, in a kind of clean-cut, wholesome manner that was almost unreal. Young and pretty and dead. Damn near punched a hole in his gut to think of the life that she could have had, all of the joy and even sorrow that would never be, all of it cut short with a quick swipe of a knife. He glanced up as Sherlock and John came round the corner. Greg gave them a tiny smile as they came into view, which they acknowledged in their own ways, John with a swift wink, and Sherlock with a curt nod. They had all agreed to keeping their relationship a secret for as long as possible, mainly to protect Greg from any potential reprimands from his higher-ups. Couldn't be seen as playing favourites, even though Sherlock had been consulting with him and getting stellar results for over five years before they had become involved.

"Same as the others, then?"

Greg sighed and turned toward John slightly, hands on hips. "Appears to be. We'd need the autopsy to be sure, of course."

"No, you don't." Sherlock crouched down for a closer look. "The knife wound has a jagged edge like the others - it's the same weapon. No hesitation this time, he came up behind her and slit her throat, right to left. He's left-handed, of course. She obviously wasn't killed here." Sherlock lifted the cuffs of her jeans. "Abrasions from ligatures, but no bruising or bleeding. He hung her up after she was dead, drained her like she was a pig for the slaughter."

"Jesus Christ."

Sherlock blinked, pausing at the clear sound of distress in Greg's voice. "Um."

"No, go on."

"Washed her thoroughly before redressing her in her own clothes. It's highly doubtful that any trace evidence will be found. He's not doing this for a sexual thrill, the victims are likely representative of a domineering female relative. He isn't able to take his anger and frustrations out on this person, so he's seeking substitutions. Working up to the fulfilment of his fantasy, perhaps."

Sherlock glanced up at the scene around them. A handful of uniforms were attempting to block the view as best they could, but it wasn't doing anything to deter the throng of curious onlookers. "He's become bolder, too. First victim in an abandoned industrial park, the second at a reasonably busy shopping centre, and now this - a public park just across from a school." He brushed the fringe off her cold face with the back of his gloved hand. "He took the time to reapply makeup, to do her hair, and yet - the lipstick has just been smeared across her mouth. And such a ghastly shade of orange, same as the others. This means something."

Greg and John both watched as Sherlock steepled his fingers under his nose, still crouching by the body. His eyes widened slightly and he excitedly gestured to the two men. John hunkered down next to him and Greg bent at the waist. "He's a malignant narcissist. Views himself as some sort of artist. Needs to be appreciated, needs an audience." Sherlock lifted his head, started scanning the crowd as unobtrusively as possible.

Greg was far less subtle, straightening his posture, looking each person in the crowd directly in the eyes. An average-sized man with mousy brown hair glanced away from Greg's piercing gaze and started shambling away, just a little too quickly to be entirely casual.

"Oi!" Greg took off after him, inadvertently shoving Sherlock and sending him sprawling into John. They went down in a heap, both calling out his name. Greg ignored them and tugged at the back of a PC's vest as he flew past. "Davies, with me. Quickly!" Greg spotted the suspect ducking down an alleyway and blew out a quick breath as he swerved to follow. _'Getting a bit old for this, m'lad. Should just call in a description and leave it to those that are hale and hearty.'_

He heard Davies puffing along gamely just behind, and came around the corner to see the suspect had made a wrong turning, the alleyway being blocked by a rather large and terribly inconvenient building. Davies stepped up next to Greg, the both of them covering the exit fairly well. Good, we've got him cornered. Of course, that usually means... Yeah, there it was - the knife.

Greg held out his hands. "Hey, none of that now. Let's talk, yeah? We're just gonna talk." Greg saw the man's eyes flicker between himself and Davies and apparently choose him as the weaker link. He sighed and braced himself as the man lunged forward, knife-first. Sure, he may have had a weapon, but he didn't have two decades of Met training and a few lessons from an ex-Army man besides.

Greg let him move a little past as he sidestepped and grabbed the man's wrist with both hands, torquing it viciously. He heard something snap as the knife dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. Using the momentum he had built up, he twisted with his torso, driving the suspect face-first into the brick wall of the building. But the bastard still had one hand free, and while Greg's weight was balanced awkwardly on one foot, he used that hand to push against the wall, hard.

Greg went down like a felled log, straight on to his back, cracking his head a solid wallop on the pavement. He actually saw _stars_ , for God's sake. Davies stepped in quickly, shoving the man's face into the rough brickwork just a tad harder than necessary as he cuffed him.

"Boss? You okay?"

" _Ow_." Just then, Sherlock skidded around the corner, John fast on his heels. They both fell to their knees on either side of Greg, John swiftly smacking Sherlock's hands out of the way so he could make a cursory examination.

"No blood, nothing obviously broken."

"Head."

"What's that, love?"

"Think - head's broken."

"Hm. Let's sit you up." John gently pulled Greg into a sitting position and Sherlock sat down on the pavement behind him, pulling Greg's back to his chest. John straddled Greg's outstretched legs and pulled out his penlight.

Davies blinked down at the odd tableau and decided that it was really none of his business and perhaps he should just concentrate on getting the suspect tucked away. Yes, just the thing to do. He ran into Donovan on his way out and shook his head slightly. "Er, knife got tossed somewhere thereabouts." He waved a hand in the general direction where the scuffle had taken place. "If I were you, I'd retrieve it and then biff off."

"Yeah, well, you aren't me, are you?"

Davies just kept moving, shoving his captive in front of him. Donovan rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her DI being cradled in the lap of the consulting prat while the consulting prat's partner shone a light in the eyes of said DI and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"Um. Boss?" She was a little relieved to see Lestrade focus on her sharply, but that relief vanished as his eyes went a bit fuzzy and his brow furrowed.

He looked at John and pressed back against Sherlock before looking at her sternly and putting a finger to his lips. "Shh."

Donovan narrowed her eyes, but nodded her understanding before looking to John. "Concussion. Afraid he's going to have to be out for a while. A week at least."

"Probably won't be able to give a statement either, huh?"

"Not a coherent one, no."

"Fucker had - um...whatsis.  Pointy thing." Greg made a stabbing motion with his arm.

"A knife, love." Greg snapped his fingers and pointed at John before laying a finger on his nose. Donovan's eyebrows nearly climbed off her head.

"Right, sir. Perhaps you should be getting on home then." She glared at Sherlock. "I'm assuming he won't be on his own..."

"For once in your rather questionable career, you assume correctly." Sherlock watched from the pavement as John slowly but steadily lifted Greg to his feet. Then he stood himself, brushing down his coat. He carefully took Greg by the shoulders as he swayed uneasily. John lifted an eyelid with his thumb and did the light thing again. Greg winced and visibly swallowed.

"Nausea?"

"Yeah. Um, no. _Hm_. Maybe?" John chuckled even as his worry increased slightly.

"Are you sure he shouldn't be going to hospital?" 

John drew himself up to his full height and lifted his chest. "I am a doctor, Sergeant Donovan. And a rather good one, at that. I'll observe him and if I think it necessary, we'll take him. Right now, it appears to be nothing more than a mild concussion, and the only thing we can do is wait it out, unfortunately. He'll be far more comfortable at home."

"Home. As in Baker Street."

John and Sherlock glanced at each other a little uneasily. "For nearly two months now, yes. It's been working remarkably well, and I'm sure Greg would greatly appreciate you not mentioning this to his superiors. It may have a negative impact on his career, and I'm sure you respect him enough as a good Detective Inspector and as an even better man to not want that to happen."

Donovan looked at Greg, who now seemed completely unaware of where he was. He had turned into the younger man's chest as Sherlock was speaking, resting his forehead on his collarbone. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and held on tightly. She narrowed her eyes at Sherlock. "I honestly didn't think you were capable."

His quicksilver gaze burned into her. "You'll find that where Greg is concerned, I'm quite capable of a great many things."

She nodded curtly. "D'ya want me to drive you, then?"

Sherlock smirked and fished around in the pocket of Greg's mack before holding up his bundle of keys. "I can take care of that as well."

Donovan nodded again. "You may want to try looking just a tad less friendly before you go out there." She couldn't help but smile as Greg nosed into Sherlock's neck. She couldn't entirely understand it, but the DI was obviously taking comfort from just his proximity.

"Right." John took Greg's arm and attempted to pull him away from Sherlock. Greg whined and held on tighter. John sighed. He knew of one sure way to cut through the haze in Greg's mind, but wasn't at all sure about sharing it with Donovan.

She must have seen something in his face, as she turned abruptly. "Right. I'll just give you a minute, then."

John waited until he could no longer hear her footfalls before squaring his shoulders and tucking his chin in slightly. "Gregory." Greg lifted his head and blinked. "Gregory. You must listen to me."

"Cap'n."

"Yes. We have unfriendly eyes out there, Gregory. We must be covert. Do you understand?"

"Und'rcvr?"

"Yes, Gregory. Business colleagues, nothing more."

" _Mm_." Greg pushed himself away from Sherlock unsteadily and John renewed his grip on his arm.

"Let's get you home, Detective Inspector." John led them back out into the scene and then past it, ignoring the stares of Greg's team. He paused as Sherlock unlocked Greg's car, catching Donovan's eye and nodding curtly. She nodded in return and started calling out orders, refocusing the team on the task at hand. John tucked Greg into the front passenger seat and made sure he was belted in securely before hopping in the back.

The ride to Baker Street was subdued, Greg humming tuneless nothings as Sherlock's grip on the steering wheel got tighter and tighter. "Sherlock, love, _relax_."

"He could have been stabbed, John. Could have been killed." His leather gloves squeaked as his hands flexed. "I don't know - I can't think... What would we do without him?"

John reached forward and laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I don't know, love. We would have to figure that out together. That's something we can talk about later, yeah? He's here, he's fine. Just a bit befuddled, that's all." John sighed heavily. "This is something we were going to run into sooner or later anyway. None of us lead sedate lives, Sherlock. And Greg's job is probably the most dangerous of us all. This is his day-to-day shit, love."

Sherlock caught John's gaze in the rearview mirror. "I know, John." His eyes slid sideways to Greg sitting next to him, fingers twitching in time to whatever tune was playing in his head. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of comfort for Greg...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the bit that I was most excited about, that will be in the next chapter, with John comforting Sherlock. Once again, it was running away from me so I had to split it up a bit. 
> 
> Anyhoo... Please do comment!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking by me for so long... :)

At least they seemingly had luck on their side when it came to parking the car, as a spot magically opened up just as they pulled into Baker Street. John once more took hold of Greg's arm and guided him up the stairs gently, his concern growing slightly as he swayed in his grip. He glanced back at Sherlock's paler-than-usual face, and the consulting detective tucked himself up just one step behind and placed a firm hand on Greg's back, in between his shoulder blades. Sherlock smiled weakly at John's grateful nod, and they proceeded up the rest of the stairs at a snails' pace, making sure that Greg had both feet on solid ground before attempting to make it up another tread.  
   
Once they had made it into the sitting room, Sherlock swiftly stripped out of his coat and suit jacket and took hold of Greg again, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. Greg hummed vaguely and started to lean back into him but then hissed as he bumped the goose-egg on the back of his head against Sherlock's solid skull.  
   
"Oh God, Greg, I'm sorry."  
   
"Shh... Sh'lck, 'm 'kay."  
   
John sighed. "First, let's get him comfortable. We'll need to keep him awake for a couple of hours, and that will be easier out here. So strip him down, and I'll get his pyjamas."  
   
Sherlock nodded and watched John march down the hallway before slipping Greg's mack and suit jacket off his shoulders and then going around to his front to start unbuttoning his shirt. Greg giggled slightly and reached out to fumble at his buttons in return, making Sherlock 'tsk' at him and slap his hands away gently.  
   
"No, Greg. You behave."  
   
Greg frowned, but stopped fiddling and just watched with bleary eyes as Sherlock methodically stripped him, leaving him in nothing but his pants. Sherlock crouched in front of him to remove his shoes and socks and to pull his trousers off and away. Greg had to support himself on his lover's head as he lifted one foot and then the other. That was how John found them when he returned, Sherlock kneeling in front of him as Greg ran his fingers through his curls, humming vaguely.  
   
John quirked an eyebrow and Sherlock shrugged. "He seems to like it."  
   
"Of course he does. He loves seeing you on your knees, sweetheart." Sherlock's body shuddered and he took the pyjama bottoms that John was holding out to him, manoeuvring them onto Greg's legs and then over his hips delicately. Then he stood and helped John get a t-shirt on him, and his thick dressing-gown. John sighed as Sherlock threw him a look. "Yes, I know that this one is sometimes too warm for him, but he's going to get the shivers before too long. I do know what I'm doing, love."  
   
"I don't doubt you, John. I just - "  
   
John pulled him down and kissed him gently. "You're worried, that's all. Believe me, I've been on the receiving end of a lot of familial concern and questioning. I know you don't mean anything by it. Just sit him down and put these on him, and I'll get something for his head." He passed over a bundle of thick woollen socks and turned back to the kitchen.  
   
Sherlock led Greg to the sofa and encouraged him to sit, which he did a bit awkwardly, obviously not wanting to move his head if he could help it. Sherlock once more knelt to slip the heavy socks onto his feet and then he just stayed there for a moment, focusing on nothing, trying to get the noise in his head to calm the fuck down. There would be time later to sift through everything, to let his stupid emotions run their course. Time later to determine if this was all worth it. His mind stopped buzzing temporarily as he felt Greg's fingers once more combing through his hair and he looked up at the man who had become more important to him than breathing.  
   
Greg looked down at him with a little frown. "S'rry..."  
   
God, the slurring. That was more than just a bit not good... Instead of voicing that concern, Sherlock frowned in return. "This was in no way your fault, Greg. There is no reason for you to apologise."  
   
"You - h'rt." The frown deepened and Greg took in a breath, obviously fighting to pull his thoughts together and make them come out in a coherent fashion. "Don't...want you...hurt." He continued to pet Sherlock's head gently. "So...sorry."  
   
" _Greg_." Sherlock leaned his head on one solid thigh for a moment. "Don't you worry about me." He looked up into Greg's lovely face. "John will take care of me. And you. We can depend on him, right?" Greg's face cleared and there was a hint of a smile on one corner of his mouth, but it vanished as another thought seemed to float across his mind. Sherlock stopped him from vocalising it with a gentle touch on his lips. "Yes, and I'll take care of him. I promise."  
   
A soft sigh, and Greg patted the sofa cushion on his right side. "Baby." Sherlock accepted the invitation, taking Greg's hand in his own and slumping down so he could rest his head on his shoulder.  
   
That was how John found them when he returned with a couple of pillows and a bag of frozen peas wrapped up in a tea towel. He quickly set one pillow on the back of the sofa and arranged the impromptu icepack on it before encouraging Greg to lean back a bit. He hissed slightly at the first contact, but then seemed to find some relief as his eyes slid closed.  
   
"Gregory, not yet." Greg frowned. "I know you're sleepy, love, but I need you to stay awake for a bit. Tell you what, we'll watch some Doctor Who. That'll make you happy, right?" Greg opened one eye and looked askance at him before sliding his gaze toward Sherlock. John laughed. "Yes, well... So the Doctor will make you happy, and no doubt Sherlock's commentary will annoy you enough to keep you awake. Sounds like a plan to me." John looked to the younger man. "Unless you'd rather decompress downstairs?"  
   
Sherlock scowled mightily and renewed his grip on Greg's hand. "I shall endure, John." His expression softened as Greg's thumb worked small circles on his hand. "I'd rather not be by myself."  
   
John smiled before leaning in to press a kiss to both of their foreheads. "Thank you." Then he went to set up the DVD, tossing the various remotes on the coffee table. He paused to look into Greg's eyes with the light again, noting his pupils' reaction with a small smile of satisfaction. "Think you could stand some tea, love?" Greg hummed and Sherlock nodded at John's quiet enquiry. Sherlock went ahead and started the disc, turning the volume down slightly as he heard the faint ringtone of John's phone from the kitchen, and then quiet murmuring. John stepped out into the sitting room briefly, making eye contact with Sherlock before looking at the mirror over the fireplace.  
   
"No, Mycroft, everything's fine. How did you even - ah." Greg's grip tightened as Sherlock huffed in irritation. "Just a bump on the head, minor concussion. We appreciate your concern, and no, we don't need anything. I'll let you know if we do. Yes, of course. Thank you." He hung up and simply tossed his mobile onto his armchair. "Apparently, he has all of our names flagged if they happen to pop up anywhere. It seems that PC was surprisingly quick to file a report, and of course it caught his eye." He stood back, gaze roaming over mirror and shelves before turning back to the kitchen. "I swear... Doesn't it sometimes feel as if he's in the room with us?"  
   
Sherlock scowled again and dug his own phone out of his pocket.  
   
 _'I will find it and destroy it, you bloody whale.'_  
  
 _'Of course you will. And then it will be replaced. Don't tell me that you're tired of our little game already, brother mine.'_  
   
Sherlock sighed, even as he slumped back down onto Greg's shoulder. _'It isn't a game anymore, Mycroft. This is my life, and I'd thank you to stay out of it.'_  
  
 _'You don't really want that, and neither do I. We would both suffer.'_

Sherlock blinked down at his phone and then up, squinting as if he could see his blasted brother sitting right in front of him. He shook his head. _'I suppose you're right, as usual.'_

_'Of course I am. Now, how is he?'_

_'Why are you so concerned?'_

_'Because you are concerned, brother dear. I can practically feel your distress from here.'_

_'No, that's not it. There's something else.'_

_'Sherlock, please.'_

_'I don't believe John stuttered when speaking to you a mere five minutes ago. He hit his head and is a bit muddled, but is otherwise fine. Truly.'_

_'Good. Perhaps you might be pleased to hear that the suspect in those dreadful killings was found to have ties to certain terrorist organisations. Quite a shock. Of course, we were forced to take him into custody ourselves for reasons of national security. None of you will ever have to see his face again.'_

Sherlock felt such a vicious flash of familial pride and outright love for his brother that he nearly swooned. He let a slow, sharp smile drift across his face and then his phone buzzed in his hand once again.

_'I take it that you approve.'_

_'Oh, yes. I am - indebted to you.'_

_'Nonsense, brother dear. It was entirely my pleasure, I assure you.'_ John came back, laden with three mugs balanced delicately in his hands. _'Ah, I see that tea has arrived. Please give both John and Greg my best and if you need anything, do let me know. I mean it, Sherlock. Anything.'_

Sherlock accepted the mug that John was handing to him and said, "Thank you," to both to his lover and his brother. Once more a faint buzz, but he didn't have to read the message to know what it said.

_'You're welcome.'_  
   
John bustled out once again only to come back with a glass of water, some pills and the blanket from their bed. Sherlock helped him spread the blanket out over all of their knees as John finally settled onto the sofa on Greg's other side, and held the water as he tipped Greg's head back slightly and placed the pills on his tongue.  
   
"Here you go, love. Something to help with that head of yours."  
   
Greg smiled after dutifully swallowing down his medication and then accepted the mug of tea, wrapping both hands around its pleasing warmth. "Bless, love."  
   
Something in John nearly cracked then, Sherlock could see it, but it was only for the swiftest of moments and once the little army doctor had squared his shoulders and tilted his chin in that particular way, it vanished. They all turned their attention to the television, and Sherlock boosted the volume even though Greg's lips were moving in time to the dialogue on the screen, only skipping or stumbling over a word here and there. Although it was ridiculous, he could tell that John was pleased with Greg's little recitation, that he saw it as a good thing, and so Sherlock accepted it as a good thing as well.  
   
Until... "Anti-plastic! Of all the stupid, childish, bloody blinkered _nonsense_  - who in the buggering hell writes this balderdash, for God's sake! Anti-plastic... _Gah_."  
   
John shot him a look, but it quickly dissolved as Greg broke out into breathless giggles. The older man gestured at the remote, and Sherlock passed it over, but he promptly handed it to John. "Mummy..." Sherlock felt his eyebrows nearly shoot off his head, but John just giggled in return and skipped to another episode.  
   
"The Empty Child?"  
   
"Yes, Sherlock. I don't think you've seen this one, and Greg obviously wants to see your reaction. So hush, and pay attention."  
   
Sherlock frowned sceptically, but settled back against Greg and kept his mouth shut, for the most part.  
   
 _'Mummy... Are you my Mummy? Mummy...'_  
   
Sherlock drew his knees up to his chest with a quiet groan. "That is quite possibly the creepiest thing I have ever seen. Children. Gas masks.  _Urgh_."  
   
John glanced around Greg. "I like to think that the introduction of Captain Jack makes up for that."  
   
Sherlock cast him a sideways look. "You would, _Captain_ Watson."  
   
Greg giggled again and leant his head against Sherlock's shoulder. John looked at the two of them and smiled. He nudged Greg slightly. "What do you think, love? Should I put in 'Blink' next?" Greg grinned widely and nodded, but it was a little dreamily. "Maybe in a day or two, huh?" Greg shrugged as his eyes once again slid closed. "That's it, love. You can sleep now."  
   
"John..."  
   
"It's all right, Sherlock. Nothing unusual or untoward has happened in the past two hours, and he needs it. This is pretty much all he'll be doing for the next couple of days. So just watch the rest of this with me, and then we'll lay him down for a bit, all right?"  
   
Sherlock bit his lip. "All right." He felt Greg's head growing heavier and his grip on his hand loosening as he slipped deeper into slumber. Sherlock tilted his head to rest on Greg's lightly, and pulled his hand into his lap so he could cradle it in both of his and he somehow managed to hold his tongue all through the rest of 'The Doctor Dances'.

John stood as the ending credits started rolling, stretching out and shifting dirty tea mugs on the coffee table. Sherlock looked up at him. "The idea of the nanogenes was rather clever, and not entirely beyond the realm of modern medical science. Perhaps the writers aren't complete fools after all."

John smiled gently. "You know, he'd love it if you just sat down with him once in a while. I know you think his shows are a bit silly, but it helps him to relax."

"Yes, well... It seems that we'll be spending quite a bit of time together in the next week, so..." Sherlock smirked. "I cannot guarantee that I will be able to keep my thoughts to myself, however."

"He'd love that too, sweetheart. Sometimes, half the fun of watching stuff like this is arguing about it later."

"Now, that is a service I'd be happy to provide..."

John smirked as he arranged the pillows against the arm of the sofa and reached out to grasp Greg's arm. Sherlock cupped the back of his head gently, and between the two of them, they were able to get him stretched out on his side with a minimum of fuss. Greg kept sleeping through it all as John tucked the blanket around him securely and made sure that there was nothing pressing on the bump on the back of his head before stepping back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock falls to pieces, just a bit, and John helps to put him back together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter the roles will be reversed.
> 
> Please do comment!

They both stood and looked down at Greg, his face peaceful in slumber, fingers twitching slightly where they were curled up on the pillow next to his mouth. Sherlock bent abruptly and pressed a kiss to his forehead, his breath shuddering out and ruffling Greg's silver hair. John took him by the hand and started to tug him in the direction of the bedroom.  
   
"Oh, but - " Sherlock's voice was hushed, and he threw a glance back into the sitting room, at his armchair.  
   
"He'll be all right on his own for a little bit, Sherlock. We've all slept on that sofa at one point or another, it's quite comfortable. However, I cannot say the same about your chair, and I think you're just about at the point of collapse. So we're going to take a little time to ourselves to recoup and then if you want to sit up with him for the rest of the night, you can. I won't try to keep you from him, I swear."  
   
"I know, John." Sherlock allowed himself to be towed behind his tiny army doctor, his mind crowded with so many images that he could barely be bothered to breathe.  
   
John stopped next to the bed and turned to him, raising both hands to run through his curls and then down to cup his jaw. "What do you need, love? Tell me what you need."  
   
Sherlock almost laughed, but he fought back the nearly irresistible urge to just open his mouth and let the hysteria come spilling out. What did he need? For this day never to have happened, for one. Maybe even for John never to have come into his life - without John, he could have kept that lock on his heart, could have kept Greg at a distance, and he wouldn't now feel as though his very soul was being ripped out through his chest. _'Caring is not an advantage,'_ Mycroft's cold voice, echoing through his head. Cold, but not unkind - not an admonishment, not really, no - a warning. His elder brother, showing his love the only way he knew how, by telling him how to stay safe -  shut down his feelings. Because when you cared, you hurt - it was inevitable. The people you love will hurt you, whether they mean to or not. No, the two men that Sherlock had allowed in would never hurt him deliberately, but they themselves could be hurt, and oh God, he felt them both so deeply inside that just the very  _idea_ was a wound to his heart, one that he would gladly bear if it meant they could be kept free from harm.  
   
It was ridiculous, it really was, honestly, it was just a bump on the head, it's not like that bastard really could have knifed him, Greg is much too clever and skilled for that to have happened, but no, it could have, it really _could_ and oh God what then? Too much, Sherlock had seen too much because he was seeing it now, seeing all of those bodies laid out on cold slabs under too-bright lights, stripped bare but for the cuts and bruises, the marks, their last tales being unravelled from their skin by Molly's sharp eyes and even sharper scalpel. But then it wasn't just any anonymous body, no, it was him, it was _Greg_ , his beautiful caring and loving silver DI, his mouth slack and skin ashen, drained of lifeforce and lifeblood, starkly laid out on the unforgiving metal of the autopsy table, under those lights, so bright, God, why were they so bright, only a jagged hole under his sternum to show why, because the assailant had been clever, oh yes, he knew to slide the knife in under the ribs, blade up and high and had neatly sliced into his lungs and had cut his breath away and oh God he could see it and it HURT, Jesus hurt so bad but he could make it go away, yes, just shut himself down, lock his stupid vulnerable oh-so-caring heart away, make it a vault this time, with chains and booby-traps and bombs and if anyone even came close again he would just let it explode, crumble to bits because he didn't need it, no, didn't need love, didn't need compassion. No, he only needed the game, the puzzles to solve, needed his mind. Not his heart. His stupid, stupid heart. No. Shut it down. Shut it all _down_.  
   
John watched all of this flickering over Sherlock's face in bare seconds, feeling a growing horror and even burgeoning panic as his lovely features started to settle into something alien and detached, a cold, unfeeling mask. "No." His fingers dug into Sherlock's cheeks and he shook him, perhaps a bit forcefully. "No, don't you _dare_. Don't you shut us out. Sherlock, you listen to me." John shook him again, waited until he saw a tiny glimmer of recognition. "I will not allow you, do you hear me? I will find a way, Sherlock - I will find a way into that head of yours and I will hunt you down and I will bloody well _fight_ for you." He watched as dark eyebrows turned inward and plush lips started quivering. "I will always fight for you, love. Even if it's you I'm fighting."   
   
At first, Sherlock couldn't really see John, even as he felt his fingers on his face. He could only see Greg laid out, pale and bloodless. But his voice, that quiet, steady tone of command - his Captain, yes, that started to seep through and then yes, he could see him, could see his warm deep blue eyes looking up at him, could see it, the love, the steel set of determination in jaw and shoulders and oh-so-straight back and God no, who was he kidding, he could never give him up, never give them up, could never go back to being alone. Never. Sherlock let his knees go out from under him, let his face crumple into hideousness because he was not a pretty crier, oh no, and he buried himself into John's soft jumper and just held on as the sobs wracked and shook his long, lanky frame and he just - oh - held on for dear life.  
   
John cradled Sherlock's head against his belly and leant down slightly, wanting to simply wrap himself around him and shelter him, protect him, keep him safe from all the wretched, insidious thoughts that he knew were bouncing around in that wonderful brain of his, but of course he couldn't, could he? So he did the only thing he could, the one thing that both of his lovers depended on him for. He stood straight and proud and solid, oh-so-solid, letting the waves of Sherlock's panic break over him as he held steady, letting it all wash over him and away. This - this was what he did best, lending his strength to those that needed it.  
   
After it seemed that the worst of it had passed, after his jumper was thoroughly soaked and the arms that had wrapped around him tight as steel had loosened and threatened to fall away, John slid onto his knees in front of his consulting detective and took his lovely face in his hands once again. He smiled gently as he kissed away the last of his tears, and that nearly made Sherlock start up all over again, he could see it, but rather than letting that happen, he pressed a firm kiss to swollen lips, ignoring the damp and well - stickiness that had run from eyes and nose.  
   
Sherlock responded with a heat that seemed to surprise even him, as he pulled away with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He ran the back of his hand under his nose, wiping away what had come running out with a gesture that was so innocent and yet so Sherlock that John's heart tripped in his chest. "John..."  
   
"Sherlock." Once again, hands on his face, John loved to see the way his hands fit on Sherlock's face, his ridiculous small hands fitting so neatly in the hollows of his cheeks, his short fingers framing those gorgeous almond-shaped eyes. Eyes that were so very, very blue at this moment that again, his heart skipped. "Tell me what you need."  
   
"You."  
   
John sighed and leant in to kiss him again, running his tongue along Sherlock's lower lip. "Yes, love." He made short work of Sherlock's shirt, unbuttoning it with precision, with a calmness that he certainly did not feel. Then he stood and encouraged his lover to his feet so he could do the same to his trousers and pants and once he was bare, Sherlock calmly turned and climbed into the bed and laid flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling and just waited for John to strip down and join him. Neither of them was hard, not yet, even though just the act of getting naked together was usually enough to bring them to that point. John wasn't even sure if Sherlock needed to get off, or if he just needed this, the feeling of skin on skin, the sensation of a solid body being draped over his, something to anchor him and remind him that this was what it was about, to bring him out of the horror film in his mind and back into his body, into the real world.    
    
And so he simply laid down on top of his lover, knees astride narrow hips and head on his pale chest, just lay there and let himself be moved by Sherlock's steady respiration, until a hand started running down his back gently, not trying to stoke any fires, just touching, feeling. John lifted his head and once more cradled Sherlock's face in his hands, running his thumbs along his cheekbones before leaning up and in and pressing a light kiss to either eyelid, down his nose and then to his chin before resting on his lips for a long moment, not pushing, not pressing, not really, just saying _'Yes. Yes, I'm here for you,'_ without uttering a word. Sherlock's arm came up to wrap around his waist and he rolled them neatly, so that they were lying side-by-side, bodies pressed together, but still soft, still pliant, sharing gentle, light touches and kisses, mostly to face and neck and shoulder, just reassuring each other, loving each other.  
   
It wasn't until John slipped a knee in between his thighs and Sherlock made a quiet desperate noise, muffled against the flesh of John's neck, that they both immediately stiffened, Sherlock's cock pressing hard and heavy against John's inner thigh. He made another noise, something questioning and needy all at the same moment and John merely whispered, "Yes. Yes, my love," and Sherlock began moving against him in a steady rocking motion, keeping his face buried in his neck, his arms tight around his torso and it seemed that it wasn't long at all before his movements became something hurried and even desperate and he rolled John on his back and shifted so he was rubbing against his stomach, but with his face still hidden, shoulders hunched awkwardly, breath shuddering hot against John's chest. He tensed the muscles of his stomach, giving Sherlock a little more of the friction that he was seeking, and he grasped his upper arms and simply held on, held tight as he let his lover just take what he needed. And then it was just moments, a few trembling thrusts before there was a soft cry that was almost a sob, and John felt the hot splashes of Sherlock's release rain down on his skin and he sighed in relief as the lanky body atop his quivered and shook and finally seemed to let go of its anxiety and worry and just - relax.

John hummed and turned his head to kiss a sweaty forehead. "Better, love? Was that what you needed?"

"John..." Sherlock shifted his body to the side slightly, quickly swiping his hand through the slick mess he had left behind before taking firm hold of John's cock and beginning to stroke.

" _Ngh_." John's body arched even as he gasped. "Sherlock. Love - ah Christ - you don't have to. Oh. Oh _God_."

Sherlock breathed out a quick laugh before leaning in to nibble on his earlobe. "Want to. You need it too, John."

" _Hah_ , oh fuck..." John's voice quickly gave way to nothing more than wordless grunts and moans, because of course he was quite close already, what with having been used as little more than a masturbatory aid in the past couple minutes. Not to mention that the very idea that Sherlock was using his come as lube was insanely hot, even though John knew that it was likely to get very sticky in a short amount of time, but right now, oh, right now it was perfect and then Sherlock moved his head down slightly, just low enough to tease and suck at a nipple, but then he bit down, and that sudden shock of sensation was enough to push John to the edge and he went tumbling over with a wordless cry.

Sherlock tilted his head to watch John's cock as it jumped and twitched and spurted over his hand and John's belly. Then he draped himself back over his lover's prone form, idly wiping his hand on his thigh. Once John had recovered his breath, he attempted to push Sherlock off, but found him to be quite immovable.

"Sherlock, we're all sticky. Let me up so I can wipe down."

"We can shower in a moment. Please, John. I just need..."

John sighed, but wrapped his arms around his lover with a little smile. He needed a cuddle, not that the big git would ever admit to that. So he let Sherlock rest his head on his chest and he willed his heart to beat steady and strong so that his lover would hear it beating, just for him.

"How do you do it?"

"What's that, love?"

"Stay so calm. You've been remarkable."

John hummed. "Training, Sherlock. That's all. I've been trained how to handle situations like this - you haven't. It's not a superpower, my love. Besides, even though concussions can be dangerous, this one is fairly mild."

"I _know_!" John started slightly at the vehemence in Sherlock's voice. "I'm so - frustrated with myself. Greg gets a silly little knock on the head, and I turn into a useless lump of emotions. How do people cope with this sort of thing?"

"They just do, really. They cope because there is no other option."

"I'm pathetic."

John laughed quietly. "You're in love. And the man that you love was hurt today. Even worse, his life was threatened - and that wonderful brain of yours keeps spinning out 'what-ifs' and 'could-bes'. I know exactly what you're seeing, Sherlock, because I've seen it too."

Sherlock leaned on his elbow and traced his fingers along John's clavicle. "How do you make it go away?"

John frowned and shrugged. "I can't - not really. I just focus on what - is - as opposed as to what could be. Greg is still here, still with us. Sure, things could have gone much differently, but they didn't, Sherlock. They didn't, and we're all right where we belong, right?"

"I am finding it a little difficult to compartmentalise, John."

"I know, love. I know. Unfortunately, that's what happens when you open up your heart to people. But you don't want to go back, do you? Back to being alone?"

"I couldn't. Not now. You're both in me too deeply, it would be like trying to tear off a limb." He heaved out a monumental sigh. " _Christ_ , I never thought I'd need anybody as much as I need you two. But no, I wouldn't change it. Not for all the world."

John smiled in the deepening gloom and ran his fingers through curly hair and down a lean spine. He yawned. "I think I might be for bed after that shower. What about you?"

Sherlock considered. "I do find myself unaccountably fatigued."

"That's another side effect of 'wild emotions run amok', I'm afraid. So let's get cleaned up, and then we'll see about moving Greg in here. I know that you wouldn't be able to sleep at all without him nearby."

Sherlock propped himself up on an elbow and pressed a kiss to John's cheek before clambering off the bed. "You know me so well." John followed him into the bathroom a minute or two later, and found the shower already running. Sherlock pulled him in, and they cleaned up quickly but thoroughly, taking the time after their shower to brush their teeth before heading out into the sitting room together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's turn for a little breakdown...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor trigger warning, I think... PTSD ahead. Now, this is just how I imagine it might happen, I didn't have the wherewithal to actually research anything, so if I get something wrong, I do apologise ahead of time. 
> 
> Comments are lifeblood, my lovelies... Please help to sustain me!
> 
> :)

Greg hadn't moved an inch, his face still peaceful and almost innocent in slumber. Sherlock bit his lip and looked from the sleeping man to John and back again. "We could just sleep on the floor..."

John snorted. "No, Sherlock, we could not." He bent down to kiss Greg's forehead and shook him gently. "Gregory, love. Time to get your crotchety arse to bed..."

Greg stirred, cracking one eye open blearily. "Cap'n."

"That's right."

"Mm." Greg pushed himself into a sitting position and just sat there for a moment, blinking himself into some semblance of consciousness. He reached out to both of them, and they were able to pull him up without difficulty, but he shook them off as he turned toward the hallway, obviously intent on navigating it by himself. He was able to do so for the most part, simply trailing his fingers along the wall as guidance. John stayed a step or two behind, but didn't interfere, until Greg stopped suddenly and made a frustrated noise, looking down to fumble with the ties of his robe. John stepped in quickly and helped him shed it, going up on tip-toe to press a kiss to his cheek.  
   
Greg smiled, but it was a half-hearted little rumply thing, only a ghost of his trademark cheeky grin. John swallowed and reached inside the bathroom to turn on the light and watched from the doorway as Greg made his usual night time ablutions, albeit at a much slower pace. He glanced down the hallway and saw that Sherlock had gathered the pillows and blanket and was hauling it all back into the bedroom. John gave him a little smile, and Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of his head as he passed.

Once they made it into the bedroom, John was pleased to see that Sherlock had actually made an effort to arrange the bedclothes in a somewhat neat manner, and that Greg's pillows had been replaced in the middle. Their sleeping arrangements sometimes varied, depending on who needed the cuddles more, but they tended to fall into this one pattern - Greg in the middle, sleeping on his left side with John tucked up against his front and Sherlock curled in around his back. John sometimes wondered about this, with Greg's tendency to overheat a little, but then, it wasn't like Sherlock stayed plastered to him all night...  
   
Greg stopped at the side of the bed and tugged ineffectually at his vest. "John..."  
   
"Yes, love." John helped him manoeuvre the shirt up and off and placed his hands on the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. "These too?" Greg nodded curtly, his eyes already sliding shut once again. John slid them off his hips, leaving him in his pants, and gently encouraged him to sit on the edge of the bed as he bent to remove them. Greg opened his eyes briefly and wiggled his feet, indicating that the socks needed to come off as well. John grinned and got a shaky smile in return. "Sorry, love. Bundled you up a bit, didn't I?"  
   
"Hot."  
   
Sherlock chuckled, bending down to press a kiss to Greg's forehead. "You certainly are, Detective Inspector." Greg huffed out a muted bark of laughter and pushed against his chest playfully. Sherlock smiled and captured his hand, holding it over his heart for a moment. "Here we go - budge up a bit."  
   
Greg dutifully scooted back on his bum and allowed them to lay him down in the middle of the bed. Sherlock swiftly crawled in at his back, and John crossed the room to get to the other side of the bed. He heard Sherlock's soft noise of approval as he shed his dressing gown, having neglected to toss on a pair of pants after their mutual shower. John shrugged even as Greg reached out for him.  
   
Greg pulled him in tight, burying his nose in John's hair. "Wicked." John wiggled into the heat of his body, settling his bum quite firmly into the curve of Greg's groin. John giggled at Greg's quiet growl. "Devil. Awful...mm...lovely man."  
   
"Hush, my love. Back to sleep, now." John's eyes fluttered as Greg's warm breath brushed over the back of his neck and he hummed vaguely in agreement. And then there was nothing but healing unconsciousness.

                   **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********      
      
John jolted awake just before three in the morning, his teeth buried in his fist to hold back the screams. He laid there for a moment, panting out short harsh breaths, still feeling the heat of the desert sun on his back, still smelling the blood that had spilled out onto the sand. He slipped from under Greg's hand and out of bed, looking down at the faint frown-line in between his lover's eyebrows. He sensed it; he always knew when John had one of his night-terrors, but he was too deep in his own slumber to come out of it. The knock to his head had apparently overridden Greg's natural tendency towards sleeping light, ready to come alert at any sign of danger. And of course John would not willingly wake him to be his comfort, not this time, not when he himself had been injured. 

Sherlock's arm tightened around Greg's middle slightly, and John could see his dark curly head tucked rather awkwardly in between Greg's shoulder blades, almost as if he were trying to burrow into him. He certainly was clinging to the older man as one might a lifebelt, and if John had any amount of tenderness in him at the moment he may have smiled, but right now he was all anger and sorrow and confusion and straight-up blood-red rage.  
   
Unaccountably still feeling that blasted heat, John left his dressing gown piled on the floor as he stumbled out into the kitchen for a large glass of water. He sucked it down quickly, not paying any attention to the trickles dripping down over his chest. He brought another out into the sitting room, setting it down on the small table next to his armchair before beginning to pace. John rubbed at his eyes, his fingers nervously clutching at his face and through his hair as he stalked up and down, up and down. There was still adrenaline running through his system, he could bloody well feel it, like a steady flame rushing through his veins, making his limbs shake and fingers clench, his mouth watering as sharp starbursts flashed behind his eyes.  
   
It had been rather a long time since he'd had to deal with this bullshit - so long, and yet, it would never stop, not really, not when something as simple as a bump on the head could bring it all back. Not even his head - no, his lover's, the man that he simply could not live without. God, watching Sherlock falling to pieces earlier had nearly broken him. _'What would we do without him?'_ John couldn't answer that in the moment, but of course he knew. They wouldn't do without him. They'd crumble to dust without Greg to hold them together. He knew that.  
   
And that was what had set off the nightmare - the danger of losing him, of losing what they had built together, of losing their odd but wonderful little family. He could hold back his panic and fear while awake, but after slipping into dreamland, well - shite, just about anything goes, doesn't it? He frowned to himself slightly, still pacing back and forth. The dream hadn't been about Greg, though, had it? Not at first. No, it had started the same way most of them had, vague memories of his life in Afghanistan before it had all gone to hell. Not that it wasn't hell after its own fashion, but most days, well, most days they had managed to survive just fine, thank you very much.  
   
But who - what? What had it been about? It niggled at him, which was odd. Usually, John was all too eager to shake off the thoughts, the memories, the triggers that reduced him to little more than quivering jelly in his bed. But this time - he shook his head and stood by the window, off to the side so his nakedness wouldn't startle anyone who happened to pass by and look up. He stared down into the street, seeing nothing now but the glare of the sun reflecting off the sand, the haphazard tents that comprised base camp. He had been in the mess, yes, that was it, getting breakfast, a gluey mass of porridge and a glass of juice. Well, they called it juice, but of course out here - it was little more than sugar water with a vaguely citrusy flavour, really.  
   
He had settled down on one end of a long bench and looking up, had seen him looking back from across the tent. John hadn't known his name, not then, but he knew it had to be something exotic, like the man himself. Olive skin and dark hair tending toward soft curls and large, dark eyes, with a lush mouth and startlingly white teeth as he flashed an impetuous and rather infectious grin in John's direction. He remembered finding out later that while he had been born in Britain, his parents had emigrated from Greece. Greek, yes, dark and beautiful, young and reckless. His name had been Andreas. Not quite as exotic as John had been imagining, but still beautiful.  
   
They had flirted, after the manner of Army men, with careful glances, small smiles and light brushes if they happened to pass one another somewhere in the camp; neither of them having enough time or enough gumption to just pull the other into a darkened corner and bloody well get on with it. No, there was never enough time. John remembered lying in his bunk, imagining himself underneath this dark man, imagining their bodies pressed together in a precious moment of stolen time, had felt his own hand crawling down his torso and imagined it to be his beautiful stranger's instead, until he had worked himself up right to the moment where he couldn't stand it anymore, and finally, finally snaked his hand into his pants and had come copiously into a tissue after two hard jerks.  
   
That was the way it was in the Army - even wanking had to be accomplished swiftly, neatly, and by God, silently. Do it if you need to, but you sodding well better keep it to yourself, soldier.  
   
After an orgasm that had nearly blown his eardrums out, John had determined that it was high time that they met, like - officially - and he was going to damn well haul that pretty dark lad into a supply tent or something, because - _Jesus_.  
   
Not that Jesus had bugger-all to do with it, because of course there had been a skirmish, and of course John's med unit had been hauled out there and of course, of course... John sighed and it turned into a moan as he remembered, oh yes, remembered seeing his lovely dark stranger laid out on the sand, under that unforgiving sun, so bright, God, why so bright, showing the starkness of death lying all around without pity, but without malice either. Showing him what was, what always would be, nothing but bleached white bones buried in the sand.  
   
John moaned again and fell to his knees in the middle of the sitting room, seeing nothing but Andreas, his beautiful dark stranger, slowly going pale as the desert greedily drank all his blood away. It had been a shot to the stomach, just under the ribs, and yes, those were painful, but depending on the angle, depending on the damage, he could be saved, he could be, but as John had peeled away his shirt and looked up at his face and had seen the dark blood welling up on his lips, his entire body had gone cold. Liver and lungs, the bullet had gone through and through, leaving a gaping wound in front and back.  
   
He had screamed for help, applying pressure as best he could and soon he was surrounded by eager and willing hands, and yes, they managed to stabilise the patient and evacuate him out and get him back to base, but the damage had been too extensive and John had been left with only his memories of his imagination to soothe him. He had done what he could to banish those images, for as sweet as they were, they weren't the truth. He never even had a chance to discover what that truth might be, and what's the use of dreaming about a dead man?  
   
John gasped again, body trembling all over. Yes, that was it, that was the nightmare, he remembered it now. He could still see him, his lovely dark soldier, lying on the sand, but of course now it wasn't Andreas, no, of course it _fucking_ wasn't, for now the figure's hair was silver, not black, the face no longer young and lean, but older, faint worry lines etched across a high brow. John moaned faintly as recognition hit him, as he saw - it was him, it was _Greg_ , it was his love and no, oh God, no. Greg going pale as his lifeblood leached out of him, a jagged knife wound in his gut, and yes, this was what he meant when he told Sherlock that he knew what he was seeing because he was seeing it now under the bright desert sun, too bright, always too fucking bright and Christ, how could there be so much blood with such a small wound, and he reached down to staunch it, but it kept flowing through his fingers and John was sobbing as he begged his love to _'stay with me, dammit, just stay with me'_ , but of course Greg was beyond hearing him, was beyond anything now and oh Lord oh Jesus just let me die with him because I can't, I simply cannot carry on without him.  
   
Sherlock woke to the sound of a low, desperate keening coming from the direction of the sitting room. Sitting up abruptly, he unintentionally jostled Greg, but other than a quiet mumble, the older man didn't protest too heartily. He extracted himself gently and threw on his dressing gown before padding down the hallway, coming up short at seeing John on his knees, naked. He was rocking back and forth, hands down on the carpet, one on top of the other, pressing down hard. Sherlock stared. It was almost like he was - what - applying pressure on a wound? Oh, _shit_.  
   
Sherlock hunkered down next to him, but didn't touch, not yet, because he vaguely remembered Greg saying something about his night-terrors, coaching Sherlock on what to do if he wasn't there to help John through. Sherlock had listened intently, but had almost immediately shunted the information off into an archive in his Mind Palace. It was ridiculous, Greg worried too much, John was better, much better. He'd never need this information, John was too strong to submit to that sort of nonsense these days, and of course Greg would be there. He would always be there. But now, of course _now_ and he should have thought of it before, because yes, John was strong and he could hold himself together for the most part, but of course his subconscious, well, Sherlock knew all about that and damn, how could he be so _stupid_?  
   
He studied John's face as he accessed the information. Streaked with tears, eyes wide and unseeing, no, not really - seeing something, but something that wasn't there. He wasn't here, he was in Afghanistan, but then again, not really, because he was begging, Sherlock could hear him mumbling 'Greg' and 'love' and 'stay with me' in a trembling, desperate voice, so what - he was in both places? He shook his head and placed his fingertips on the top of John's hand, just resting them there lightly.  
  
 _'Be careful if you touch him, Sherlock. You don't know where his head is, you don't know how he'll react. He may lash out. One time he kicked me in the gut, took me a few minutes to learn how to breathe properly again. He was devastated when he came back to himself, but you can't blame him. It's still John, but he'll most likely be in a defensive state of mind, and he can be dangerous. We both know what he's capable of. So just be careful, all right?'_  
   
Sherlock slowly let his hand come to rest on top of John's. He squeezed gently. "John? Come back to me."  
   
 _'He may not be 'here' as such. You'll have to remind him. Keep talking, but gently. Tell him where he is, tell him who he is. Tell him who you are. He may not remember you at all, Sherlock. His mind is in the past when this happens. He hadn't met either of us yet. So again, whatever happens, don't take any of it personally.'_  
   
Sherlock took a deep breath, rhythmically squeezing the hands under his with a steady motion. "You are John Hamish Watson, you're in London. In England, John, not there, not the desert. In 221B Baker Street, with Greg and Sherlock. Greg's here, John, he's here and he's perfectly fine. He needs you. Please, please come back to us. You aren't there anymore, John, it's all over and past. Please. We need you here. Oh, please."  
   
 _'Now, there's no telling what will happen once you do get through to him. He may brood for a bit, he may cry. He might just turn over and go back to sleep. But whatever he needs to do, you let him, Sherlock. Even if he walks away from you, you let him go. He'll come back. He always does.'_  
   
He let his hand travel upward, caressing John's forearm, still murmuring his quiet litany, name and place and 'need, oh, we need you, John, please John'. John blinked rapidly, and his hand snapped up and clamped around Sherlock's wrist, squeezing just a touch harder than was comfortable, the delicate bones grinding together subtly. Sherlock hissed in discomfort, but kept talking, quiet and steady, not even aware of the words falling from his lips, hoping that just the sound of his voice would be enough to pull John out of it. John's body shuddered, relaxed, and Sherlock saw that he might fall, so he tucked himself up to his side and let him slump against his chest. John released his wrist, and Sherlock tentatively put his arms around his shoulders, holding him close, but not tight, giving him the room to escape if he deemed it necessary.  
   
"Sher... Sherlock?"  
   
"Yes, yes, I'm here. You're here. You're in Baker Street, do you remember, John? Oh God, please tell me you remember..."  
   
John smiled wearily and burrowed into the consulting detective's neck. "I remember. I'm here, I'm back. Don't you fall apart on me, now."  
   
Sherlock turned his head and stuck his nose in John's hair, huffing out a warm breath across his scalp. "Sorry. I've never seen you like that before."  
   
"I'm sorry I scared you, love."  
   
"Don't be ridiculous." He ran his hands down John's back and suddenly seemed to realise that he was still starkers. "Aren't you cold?"  
   
As if Sherlock's words unlocked some kind of connection between mind and body, John started to tremble somewhat violently. "Well, shit. I guess I am. I wasn't feeling it before, I was - was..."  
   
"You were in Afghanistan. But you're not now. And it's bloody chilly in here." John snorted, but allowed Sherlock to stand and pull him up with him. Sherlock grabbed the blanket off the back of his armchair and wrapped it around him securely before leading him to the sofa and encouraging him to sit. They lounged together, Sherlock stretched out with John nestled on his side between his legs, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. John hummed as he was caressed, long nimble fingers running through his hair and down his arms and then back again, the touch almost maddeningly light through the thick wool of the blanket.   
   
"If - if you wish to talk about it, I would be more than happy to listen."  
   
"No, Sherlock. The last thing I want to do right now is talk about it. We both know what I was seeing. The same things you were seeing, albeit in a different setting."  
   
"Then I will ask you the same thing you asked me earlier. What do you need, John? Tell me what you need."  
   
John shifted, turning so that his body was flush against Sherlock's. "I don't suppose I need to tell you that my answer is the same as yours." Sherlock growled quietly as John shimmied up his body, leaning in to press a heated kiss to plush lips.  
   
He laughed into John's mouth as the smaller man struggled to free himself from the restriction of the blanket. "It would seem that you're completely under my power, Captain Watson."  
   
John snarled, but managed to free an arm and he pushed himself up to aid in disentangling himself from his fabric prison. And since his hand was right there, well, it just made sense to tug the belt of Sherlock's dressing gown loose and stick that same hand right into the flap of his pants and draw out his half-hard cock before Sherlock even had a chance to take a breath.

John shook himself even as he squeezed his prize firmly. _'Still in Army mode, you bastard, slow down for fuck's sake.'_ Sherlock grunted in surprise as John squeezed again, but then forced himself to open his fingers and release him. John counted down from ten in his head, nice and slow before laying his body down on top of Sherlock and aligning their cocks. The younger man gasped as heated flesh touched and slid together, but then he grasped John's face in his hands and brought him in for a thorough kiss.

"Let me, John. Please? Let me take care of you." He smiled a little ruefully. "I told Greg that I would look after you." John smiled, or tried to, but it felt more like a frown on his face so he tried again, and this time it felt a little more - well, right, but he wasn't sure so he just let his face relax. Sherlock tilted his head and ran his nimble fingers through his hair and to the back of his neck. He rubbed gently. "Please."

John nodded, and the grin that lit up his lover's face was so brilliant that he couldn't help but echo it, and this time it was right, he could tell, because Sherlock's eyes crinkled in pleasure at the sight of it. Then John gasped in shock as the blanket was whisked off his shoulders. "Jesus, love. Cold!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed at his chest gently as he wriggled out from underneath him. "Lie back." John did so, settling down on his back on the opposite end of the sofa, his body trembling at the chill, until Sherlock went up on his knees and spread the blanket back over him, from chin to toes. He grinned again before ducking under the blanket himself.

John giggled as he felt the first touches, Sherlock's hands worming their way under his thighs, Sherlock's breath hot on his bollocks. He lifted the blanket and could only barely make out a curly head, cloaked in the darkness. "You won't be able to breathe under there, you know."

A quiet chuckle. " _Ugh_. Breathing. Breathing's boring."

"Wanker." Another gust of laughter, wafting hot and delicious over his skin, and John could only throw his head back and allow himself to get lost in the sensations as Sherlock drew his knees over his shoulders and bloody well stuck his tongue right where the sun don't shine.

John gasped and writhed under every touch and lick and nibble, on arse and bollocks and thigh and goddamn belly, everywhere but where he needed it the most. He thrust one hand deep into Sherlock's curls and tugged when he couldn't stand it any more. He groaned, low and desperate. "Love, _please_." Sherlock hummed low and snaked one arm up John's body, tweaking a nipple before putting his fingers to his lips. John sucked them in eagerly and gasped as Sherlock finally swallowed him down and he quickly realised that he was mimicking the pattern of John's tongue on his fingers down below and he tried to go slow and gentle, he did, but there was still a little too much adrenaline in his system and God he just really really needed to get off, so he sucked hard, and so did Sherlock and when he came it was like a freight train had ripped through his body, leaving him quivering and weak as a newborn kitten, completely exhausted and utterly drained.

Sherlock withdrew his fingers abruptly and John could feel his breath shuddering hot against his belly and he had just enough strength to toss the blanket aside, knowing what he was doing and needing to see it. "Show me, love." Sherlock came up on his knees between John's legs and quickly shoved his pants down so he could resume fucking his fist, hard and fast. John's gaze flickered from his brilliant quicksilver eyes to his hand, watching as the darkly flushed head of his cock popped in and out of the circle of Sherlock's fingers. "Oh, you are gorgeous. If I wasn't about to pass out right here, I'd suck you dry."

Sherlock's hips stuttered and he threw back his head, the cords in his neck standing out in harsh relief as his body stiffened and he came into the curve of his fist. He bit his lip as he slumped down slightly, body trembling with aftershocks. "A - another time, John. I knew that you would be unable to do much after coming down from all those hormones in your system."

John grinned crookedly. "I'll hold you to that, y'know." Sherlock grinned in return and hoisted his pants back up, grimacing slightly as he wiped his hand on them. He draped himself over John's prone form and pulled the blanket up over both of them. "We should go back to bed, love."

"Mm." Sherlock nodded in agreement and burrowed into John's neck. "Yes, we should."

John yawned and kissed his forehead. "Yeah..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Greg's minor injury...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - so. Been a while since I visited this particular configuration of my boys' lives, and for some reason, this is the direction the muse pointed me in, so here we have a bit more of Sherlock and John dealing with a discombobulated Greg. Who, even when he's a bit loopy, is still a horny bastard. No smut in this chapter, but it will be in the next, of that I can assure you. 
> 
> Anyway! Yay for a second weekly update, even if it isn't exactly the bit that maybe you guys were hoping for...
> 
> (Please help keep me sustained - comments, my lovelies!)

When John awoke, it was to Greg's face looking down at the two them, a faint smile in his eyes. "Oh! Oh _Jesus_ , love. I'm sorry. We didn't mean to leave you alone." Sherlock snorted against John's chest and came awake all at once, sitting up abruptly before slumping down again with a nearly voiceless groan.

Greg frowned vaguely down at John's nakedness. "Shh..." He patted the top of John's head. "Bad dream?"

John sighed. "Something like that, yeah."

The frown deepened. "My fault."

"No, love. Just my broken brain, seeing shit that isn't there." John struggled into a seated position, attempting to disentangle himself from the blanket and Sherlock's dressing gown and Sherlock himself, who was lying half on top of him and seemed disinclined to move any time soon.

Greg giggled slightly, swaying where he stood. That swiftly caught Sherlock's attention and he struggled to his feet in order to grab hold of his shoulders. Greg leant against him as John also stood, wrapping the blanket around himself. "Did...baby help?"

John smiled as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Greg's mouth. "He did, in fact. Sherlock took very good care of me."

Greg turned his head slightly to beam up at Sherlock, but his bright grin soon turned down into another frown as he swayed a little more forcefully. John jerked his head toward the sofa and between the two of them, they got him seated with a minimum of fuss. Greg huffed impatiently as he slumped back, his face twisting into a grimace. He turned a grumpy look on John and huffed again. "How long...like this?"  
   
John sighed as he leaned over him, wordlessly encouraging him to drop his head forward so he could get a look at the goose-egg on the back of his skull. The swelling had gone down considerably, but it was obviously still very tender, as Greg hissed and jerked away unconsciously when John gently probed around the edges. He cupped Greg's chin and tilted his head back, pressing a kiss to his temple and another to the edge of his jaw. "Probably a week at the very least, my love."  
   
" _Fuck_." Greg growled faintly, but gratefully slumped into Sherlock as he snuggled up to his side, wrapping one long arm around him. John straightened, and something in Greg's face shifted slightly as one corner of the blanket that he had draped over himself slipped, revealing one fine, strong shoulder. Greg growled again, this time a sound of contentment rather than one of frustration. John jumped slightly as a warm hand deftly slid up and over his thigh, tightening its hold as it moved back and up, until it was firmly gripping one delicious arse-cheek.  
   
John met Sherlock's amused gaze and shook his head ruefully. "Gregory... None of that now, you dog."  
   
Greg hummed and started to squeeze his prize rhythmically. "S'alright, love." He nodded down toward his own groin. "He's not... _erm_." He seemed to drift for a moment, his eyes lifting to trace the outlines of the mirror over the fireplace. "Cooperating..." Greg started to run his other hand in small circles on Sherlock's thigh, moving upward ever-so-slowly. "Want to watch. To see how you...mm. Take care of each other."   
   
John's cock twitched as Sherlock bit his lip, a pleasant blush spreading over his cheeks. Greg grinned brightly if a little crookedly, and turned it on the both of them with a distinct glimmer of hope in his eyes. John sighed. "How about we get a bit of toast and tea into you first. If you think you can handle it, of course."   
   
Greg raised his eyes to the ceiling as Sherlock covered his roaming hand with his own, squeezing gently. "Mm." John's mouth twisted with determination, and Sherlock looked at him with amusement, yes, but also deep concern. Greg felt something in his chest tighten as he let their emotions sink into him, as it struck him, perhaps for the first time, how completely and utterly they both loved him. He shook himself out of it quickly, for although it was a wonderful feeling, it would no doubt lead to tears considering his own shaky emotional state. And if he broke down in front of the both of them now, that would most certainly curtail the possibility of getting a private show later. "Yeah...okay." John smiled gently, and Sherlock let out a breath that he hadn't even been aware of holding in. "As long as..." Greg loosened his grip on that lovely arse, and squeezed Sherlock's hand reassuringly. "You keep...blanket on. Nothing else."  
   
John flushed and rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop a little giggle from escaping. "You are nothing but a great filthy beast, Gregory Lestrade. Even when your brains have been rattled quite thoroughly."  
   
"You...love it."  
   
"God help me, I do." John ducked down again, placing his forehead against Greg's gently. "I really, really _do_." He let the blanket slip a little further as he reached out to put his hand on top of his lovers' entwined fingers. Sherlock leant in so that they were all breathing the same air, quiet and steady. "You're never to do anything like that again. You don't run off like that. Not without us." John felt Greg's brow furrow deeply against his own and blinked back tears. "I can't..." His heart tripped wildly as he heard Sherlock suck in a shuddering breath next to him. " _We_ can't..." John let his trembling legs fold underneath him, until he was kneeling in between Greg's thighs, his face buried in his belly. "Not without you. We won't survive without _you_."  
   
Greg blinked down at him and slowly carded his fingers through John's fine hair, offering comfort the only way he could at the moment. He wanted to scream with frustration, but was only able to let out a quiet sigh. Greg had the words, they were there - he could see them burning on the inside of his eyelids, for fuck's sake. He knew exactly what he should say, but he just couldn't fucking spit it out. There was something missing, some connection in between brain and mouth had been fractured, and it left him feeling bewildered, incompetent. It was ridiculous - it was just a bump on the head, for Christ's sake. He wasn't about to let them keep him from doing his job however he saw fit, even if something worse could happen the next time. He stared down as John rubbed his cheek against the bare skin of his stomach, his golden lashes darkened with tears.

Greg felt his shoulders drop a little, realising that no matter what John was saying to him now, he would never really demand anything of him in that fashion. He had just frightened them both, albeit unwillingly, and their behaviour now, the way they were clinging to him, was just their way of releasing that fear, that uncertainty. Things would return to normal when this was all over, when he could actually get the blasted words out. For now, he just let them hold him as they needed, gently caressing tawny hair and taut thigh, murmuring nonsense noises that eventually resolved into a stuttering recitation of _'yes, my loves, I promise, yes, never again, never leave you, oh my loves'._  
   
They both knew better, of course, but they let Greg's gravelly voice reassure them anyway, listening to the lies falling from his lips and gulping at them like air.  
   
Sherlock took both of his lover's hands in his and raised them to his mouth, running plush lips over two sets of knuckles before pressing them to his cheek. He closed his eyes with a quiet sigh as Greg's thumb ran gentle swipes along his jaw.  
   
"Fuzzy face."  
   
John snorted as Sherlock's eyes flashed open and he cast a sideways scowl at Greg. Not that he could maintain his outrage, not with his lover looking at him like that, his eyes soft, his lips curving upward ever so slightly. He wasn't making fun of him, not really. In truth, Sherlock knew that Greg loved every bit of him, so when he teased him about not sprouting the same copious amounts of hair on his face overnight as he and John did, it truly was not meant in any malicious manner. No, he teased him simply because he wanted to touch him, to reach out and run his fingers over his cheekbones, to cup his jaw and press his lips to his skin, murmuring _'soft, love - oh so soft, my Sherlock'_. Something always melted in him when Greg did that, and although he wanted to be angry with himself for giving in, for allowing himself to be coddled and cooed over, his life had become so much richer since he had accepted the inevitable. Not that he needed to make it overly easy on the two men that had so rudely shoved their way into his heart...  
   
He sniffed faintly. "If it's that apparent, then I suppose I must shave." Greg's lips turned down in a vague moue of disappointment, but his eyes retained a bit of their former sparkle. He knew, of course. He knew that there were times that Sherlock acted difficult simply in order to _be_ difficult, to somehow prove to himself that he wasn't dependent on either of them, no, he was a grown man and he would do whatever he damn well wished, thank you very much. That both of them recognised that, and respected it even, never failed to astonish him. Not only did they tolerate most of his little outbursts, they bloody well indulged him - but only to a certain extent, of course. He always knew when he had taken things too far, when John's mouth would tighten in that particular way, when Greg's eyes would narrow with disappointment. Sherlock often found himself backpedalling in those moments, frantically struggling to recall just what it was he had said or done to inspire those dread expressions on his lovers' faces so he could apologise, beg, plead - anything. Anything to take it back and make it right. For as quickly as his brain worked, sometimes his stupid mouth moved even faster; harsh words that were absolutely not meant would come tripping out glibly and attempting to stop them was rather like trying to halt a freight train at full speed.  
   
But they knew that too, and they knew that every time it happened, Sherlock was sincere in his remorse and regret, and every time they forgave him. Every _damn_ time. How had something so blessed fallen into his lap like this? This wasn't the way the world worked. This wasn't his world. Was it? His eyes slipped shut again as Greg gently disengaged his hold on his hand and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him in close. He ran his lips along Sherlock's lightly be-furred jaw and let out a contented sigh.  
   
"Oh, my Sher... Soft, love. _Soft_."  
   
Sherlock felt the tears pouring down his face, because he knew what Greg was saying with just those few words. Not praising the quality of his skin, or good-naturedly teasing him about the sparseness of his two day-old beard, but encouraging him to gentle his own racing thoughts, to take himself out of his head so that he didn't over-think things or set off some kind of emotional time-bomb. _'Calm yourself, my love. Gently, now - quiet that brain of yours'._ Sherlock nodded, taking in a great draught of air as John squeezed his hand gently. He smirked slightly as he raised it to his face and used the back of his lover's hand to wipe away the damp lingering on his cheeks. John rolled his eyes and looked up at Greg with a pleased expression when the older man chuckled quietly.  
   
Sherlock blinked and tilted his head as he looked at Greg seriously. There was a tightness around his eyes and the corners of his mouth that the younger man recognised immediately. It was obviously becoming too much, his senses and thoughts and emotions were swiftly going into overload. Although Greg was a natural cuddler, having his lovers clutching at him in this manner was obviously beginning to distress him. Not that he would ever articulate that to them, even if he had the ability, which he seemed to be lacking at this moment. Greg was smiling, yes, but it wasn't lighting up his face the way it normally did. He clearly needed a moment to himself. Sherlock ducked in for a quick kiss and then stood, abruptly tugging John to his feet. John opened his mouth to protest, but shut it when he saw the look on Sherlock's face.  
   
"Come, John. I believe that tea and toast are in order, yes? I shall assist, since you are encumbered with that makeshift toga of yours. Must keep your dignity intact."  
   
Another quiet chuckle from Greg. "Could just...lose it. Be...easier."  
   
John huffed and cocked his head as he took in his lover's appearance. He'd been so intent on examining the bruise and then had become so distracted by his own emotions that he'd failed to take in the fact that Greg had been sitting there in nothing but his pants the whole time. Not that the lingering chill in the air seemed to be affecting him... But still. He blushed fiercely as he whipped the blanket away and swiftly shook it over Greg instead. "Fine. As long as you put it to good use, my love."  
   
"Mm." Greg nuzzled into his hair briefly as John bent and tucked the edges in around him, fussing rather unnecessarily. "Not gonna...freeze, silly."  
   
"Still." John tried to appear nonchalant as he pulled away, putting his hands on his hips. The flush in his cheeks started to move inexorably downward as both of his lovers looked him over from top to toe. He thrust one finger in Sherlock's direction. "You'll be carrying the tray with the teas, you know."  
   
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course, John. I certainly wouldn't want to risk you getting injured. With both of you out of commission, how would I get relief for my sexual urges?"  
   
"The old-fashioned way, you toff." Both Greg and John held up their right hands, and Sherlock broke out into giggles.  
   
He threw his arms wide, dressing gown swirling dramatically as he turned toward the kitchen. "Boring!"

John smirked slightly as Greg looked after Sherlock's rapidly disappearing form fondly. "How quickly they learn, eh love?" Greg blinked up at him a little sleepily, with an answering grin.

In the beginning, their mutual lover couldn't seem to understand why it felt so different, so much better, when he was with them as opposed to spending some quality time alone, with only his hand to entertain him. But now - oh, now. If Sherlock got the urge and neither of them was around to indulge him, then he'd simply wait instead of taking care of it himself. He would of course text the hell out of the both of them, demanding that they return at their earliest convenience so that he may be serviced - as was his right, apparently. If John responded at all, it would be with irritation, but Greg would invariably text back suggestive phrases, telling Sherlock outright exactly what he intended to do to him when he got home. These day-long teasing sessions would usually result in quite the sticky explosion when the two of them finally came together at the end of the evening, the anticipation leaving both of them rather incapable of anything more than frantic rutting. Generally, after they had recovered sufficiently, John would then enter the fray, fucking Sherlock slow and deep as the younger man took his time sucking Greg to a second, more intense, _much_  more satisfying orgasm.   
   
John shook himself out of his thoughts as Greg snuggled down into the blanket. His fingers twitched against one golden thigh as he fought the urge to cover himself as he followed after Sherlock. He couldn't resist a little hip-wiggle as he got to the door though, looking back over his shoulder, expecting to catch Greg staring at him lasciviously. John faltered slightly when he saw that his lover's eyes were shut tight, the fabric of the blanket bunched up under his nose as he inhaled deeply. He suddenly understood Sherlock's insistence on leaving him alone now, when yesterday it seemed that he'd never let Greg out of his sight ever again.

Sherlock leant up against the worktop and held his dressing gown open in a rare flash of empathy, smiling softly as John came to him and tucked himself in against his body. The younger man wrapped arms and fabric around him, sheltering him against the outside world. It wasn't that John didn't like wandering around the flat in the buff, in fact, he always felt a bit daring and bold when he allowed himself the freedom that Greg so easily displayed. It was just that now, at this particular moment, he was still feeling too raw, too vulnerable to really enjoy it.   
   
Sherlock hummed softly and squeezed him gently. "It's all right if you want to cover yourself, John. I am certain that Greg would not object. Not truly." He slowly shifted one hand down his back, tapping his lover's bare arse with one long finger. "It's not like he hasn't seen it before, or will never see it again." Sherlock started to swirl his finger over the firm flesh under his hand, moving in random patterns. John shivered. "And then there's the little show that you promised him..."  
   
"I did no such thing."  
   
"Mm. Whatever words you actually uttered, you know that they were taken as an oath." Sherlock bent down to nibble along the edge of John's ear, humming again as he gasped into his chest. "And he is not the only one who would be terribly upset if you reneged on that promise..."

John's slate-blue eyes twinkled merrily as he tilted his head back. "Oh, is that so?"

"Indeed." Sherlock purred throatily in response to John's quiet snarl, tilting his head and slumping lower against the worktop to give the smaller man access to his neck. "Not that the two encounters that we had yesterday weren't perfectly satisfactory..."

John breathed deeply against Sherlock's pulse-point, smiling as it throbbed under his lips. "They were mostly about release, not necessarily about connection."

Sherlock blinked as he nodded slowly. "Something was missing, yes - but I did not know how to articulate that. You are quite right. I didn't really feel our bond in the same way, for some reason." He leant back slightly, placing his palm over John's chest. "I need to _feel_ you, John. Need to feel you inside me."

" _Ngh_." John breathed out a quiet laugh as he rubbed up against Sherlock's inner thigh, his cock already more than half-hard. "I believe I can accommodate that demand, my love." He shook his head as he pushed himself away from the warm curve of Sherlock's body. "But sustenance first. Greg needs something in that belly of his."

"Oh, I quite agree, Doctor Watson."

Without another word, the two men set about getting the kettle filled and bread toasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of breakfast, and then a bit of a show for poor addled Gregory...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So it's been a long time since I updated here, so sorry! Seems perhaps I've bitten off a bit more than I could chew when I started adding new parts and new stories and all. Please rest assured that none of it has been abandoned, I'm simply trying to catch up!
> 
> Please let me know if you're still reading and still enjoying!
> 
> Kisses for all my lovelies!
> 
> *mwah*

As John entered the sitting room with a tray laden with toasted bread products and various toppings, he wasn't at all surprised to find that Greg had shifted slightly on the sofa, nestling up against the arm with his head resting sideways on the back. He put the tray down carefully and bit his lip, watching Greg's chest rise and fall with steady respiration. He needed his sleep, obviously, but he also needed to get something into his system - even if it were nothing but water, at the very least.

Then he shook his head as he watched a small but shaky grin bloom on his lover's face, lifting his head before opening his eyes and working one arm out from under the blanket. Greg held his hand out to him, and as John took it, he could swear that a bit of the twinkle returned to his lover's chocolate-brown eyes. He willingly went where Greg pulled him, slouching down onto the middle cushion of the sofa, smiling as the blanket was courteously rearranged over his naked lap.

John reached for the plate of toast as Sherlock entered with his own tray, bearing the tea in a rather absurdly regal manner. Greg giggled at the younger man quietly even as John handed him a piece of thoroughly unappetising dry toast. Sherlock scoffed at the crestfallen look on his lover's face as he settled onto the floor on the other side of the coffee table, reaching for the pot of honey and slathering a generous amount onto his own breakfast before taking a large bite, humming his contentment. John glared at the dark-haired man as Greg turned utterly woebegone eyes in his direction.

"Sherlock, I know it's extremely difficult for you, but could you at least _try_ not to be such a smug arsehole?" He reached out to pat Greg's knee. "And you - don't even. I want to make sure your stomach can handle a couple of bites of that before we risk anything richer, all right?" Greg continued to pout, but he did at least put the dry toast to his mouth, nibbling on one edge with great reluctance. John kept a stern eye on him as he sipped at his tea, finally deciding to give in when about a quarter of the meagre breakfast had been dutifully consumed, although he was fairly certain that about eighty percent of it had ended up as fine crumbs decorating his lover's chest hair. He started to reach for a fresh piece, but Sherlock was quicker, shuffling forward on his knees with one that he had already spread with both honey _and_ jam.

Greg leant forward eagerly as Sherlock held the piece of toast aloft, his nose wrinkling with pleasure as his silver-haired lover took a considerable bite. John quickly devoured two pieces of his own as Greg slowly finished off his one, with Sherlock's gentle but constant encouragement. The older man wrinkled his nose at the last tiny bite, heaving out a little sigh of displeasure. With a sly sideways glance that John pretended not to see, Sherlock popped it into his own mouth, relieving his lover of the burden of having to eat the last of it himself. The smile that Greg turned on John as he wiped his mouth was more than just a bit smug, but he pretended not to notice that, either. Especially as it vanished utterly when Sherlock held up Greg's tea, his quicksilver eyes narrowed slightly.

John grinned as he ran a foot along the younger man's thigh in gratitude. "Just a bit, love. I'm actually a little more concerned with keeping you hydrated than fed, you know." Greg sighed again, but reached out to grasp at his mug with both hands, taking small sips as his eyes closed in bliss. He finished off about half of it in that manner, with slow, tiny dips of his head. When he grimaced slightly, John reached out and took the mug back from him before placing it on the coffee table. "That's enough for now, I think. We'll see about a fresh cup a bit later, okay?"

Greg nodded briefly and opened his eyes to see both of his lovers looking to him with satisfaction, and he winked. "Think...I needed th-that." Sherlock laid his head in Greg's lap and he started to run his broad fingers through the wild curls. "Thank you...m'loves."

John relaxed some more as he finished his own tea, but then jumped a bit as long fingers suddenly caressed his ankle, moving slowly but inexorably up his leg under the cover of the blanket that he and Greg were sharing. He wriggled slightly in his seat as his prick twitched, reminding him that its awareness of Sherlock's interest in the kitchen less than a half-hour previous hadn't entirely waned. He squirmed again as those delightful fingers circled around his knee, worming their way in between his thighs. With a quiet moan, he shifted them apart as he abruptly placed his empty mug next to Greg's. John spared a quick glance toward his lovers, but Sherlock's face was firmly pressed into Greg's leg, and Greg himself was avidly watching the progress of those intrusive digits as they inched along under the blanket. His eyes were so focused that John could easily imagine him as some great cat, just waiting his opportunity to pounce. John found the intensity of his gaze to be just as comforting as it was thrilling, as it clearly showed that Greg was not all that addled, and that his recovery was likely to be fairly quick.

He moaned again as the back of one finger gently stroked his bollocks and lower, before moving back up again, delicately tracing every little vein standing out in relief under the skin of his hard cock. John tilted his hips slightly, wordlessly encouraging Sherlock to go lower, to grasp tighter, but the maddeningly light touch remained steady and sure. Greg's eyes flickered up to his face, huge and dark, and John sighed as he felt his cheeks warm under that gaze. "Oh, go on, then." He tried to make it sound as nonchalant as possible, but there was no disguising the need in his voice, and Sherlock smirked as he withdrew his hand and quickly got to his feet.

He scampered down the hallway and returned barely a minute later completely stripped down, his stiff prick bobbing up eagerly against his belly as he clutched at a towel and a bottle of lube. Greg chuckled as he slowly drew the blanket from John's lap, licking his lips as his lover was revealed in his fully erect glory. Oh, yes - there was the look that John had been anticipating earlier, and the shiver that ran down his spine as he stood was obviously appreciated by his silver-haired lover, as he reached out to run his palm down his belly. He stopped just below John's navel, humming as the smaller man's body swayed toward him unconsciously. They both watched as Sherlock spread the towel on the sofa and held the lube out to John.

John shook his head slightly. "Greg and I want to watch you put on a show, sweetheart." Greg grinned with delight and shifted in his seat, pulling his lover down to nestle in between his legs. Sherlock's lips twisted with irritation, but as John leant back against Greg's chest with a happy little sigh, his eyes softened and he nodded briefly. John giggled as Sherlock's quicksilver eyes darted from the entwined couple to the towel and back again. He was clearly deliberating on how to do it, whether to turn his back on them and bend over and really give them a show, or whether he wanted to watch their faces as he opened himself up for John's cock.

The decision seemingly made, Sherlock practically flung himself down on his back over the towel, one leg resting along the top of the sofa and the other bracing against John's knee. Greg reached out to trail his fingers along Sherlock's instep, smiling as the younger man let out a sharp gasp and twitched sharply, almost making him drop the bottle that was clutched tightly in his hand. John wrapped his hand around his ankle, holding him in place as long, nimble fingers were coated with lube and placed at his entrance. Both of the men watching hummed with pleasure as one finger breached his hole slowly, carefully. John hummed again and wriggled back against Greg's comforting warmth as his arm snaked around his waist and down, his warm hand wrapping around his lover's perfect prick and stroking him idly.

Sherlock lifted his head to watch as Greg's hand steadily worked over John's cock, abruptly shoving his finger in deep, moving his hand in slow, wide circles. He gasped as the hard flesh clutched in Greg's hand began to leak over his broad fingers, as John’s prick was released and those same sticky fingers were put to the smaller man's mouth. He sucked them in with a low moan, his slate-blue eyes fixed on Sherlock's pretty pink arsehole as he violated himself. Greg's eyes had once more gone a bit hazy, but his attention was clearly focused on the same lovely sight, so Sherlock gave them a bit more of what they were seeking, swiftly probing and pushing until a second finger was neatly slotted in next to the first, still buried deep.

He forced himself to keep the tempo of his fingers to the beat of the steady breaths that he was taking in through his nose. Nice and slow, strong and deep, oh yes. By the time he had a third digit stuffed in there, John's chest was practically heaving, and the smaller man was squirming against Greg's solid hold. Sherlock rolled his hips and threw back his head with a loud moan, striving for his sweet spot, that small nodule of spongy tissue that delivered such improbable pleasure. The spot that John never had difficulty finding, the angle and curve of his cock seemingly designed for just that purpose. He ran the fingers of his free hand down the inside of his thigh, caressing his skin and tickling gently at the head of his own prick, the muscles in his belly tightening as it jumped against his hand.

"Enough." John's voice was little more than a low growl, and Greg chuckled quietly as he wrapped both arms around the good doctor and held him tight. "Love, no. Let me go. You want this, you want to watch. You said." He writhed a bit more as Sherlock withdrew both hands and stood, every line and curve of his beautiful body held in watchful anticipation. "Gregory, let me _go_ , you utter bastard."

"Please, Greg." Sherlock's voice was pitched low and deep, almost impossibly sweet. "Please."

John suddenly relaxed in his lover's hold as he tipped his head forward, shivering as Greg mouthed at the nape of his neck. "Of course. That was rather rude, wasn't it? Please, Greg. Please let me go." Greg hummed his approval and nibbled delicately at the scar on his left shoulder before loosening his grip, sliding his hands down John's sides and along his thighs before leaning back in his seat. John stood and took a moment to tilt Greg's face up to his, pressing gentle kisses on his eyes, his nose, his mouth. "Thank you, my love."

Greg's grin was a bit dopey, his eyes still a little glazed, but even in his addled state he was clearly eager to get the show started, as he pushed at John's chest briefly. Both of his lovers chuckled at him, even though Sherlock was just as eager if not more so, pulling at John's arm and pushing him into sitting on the towel. John immediately reached out to grasp at the narrow hips, scooting forward until he was able to lick a long stripe up Sherlock's slender cock, pressing his lips together and running them from side to side over the sensitive glans, until they were wet with pre-come and glistening faintly.

Sherlock threw his head back as he moaned, putting one hand to John's head and the other to his own mouth, slipping two fingers in and sucking around them languorously. Both John and Greg let out mixed noises of pure lust as their mutual lover trailed his fingers from mouth to throat to nipple, circling and rolling and pinching it with his wet fingertips before continuing downward, cupping his bollocks and squeezing as the man seated before him worshipped his cock.

"J-John..." The smaller man looked to his side, smiling faintly at the look of utter need in the deep brown eyes that were turned on him. "Please, l-love..."

John gasped as the long fingers buried in his hair tugged sharply, and he nodded before leaning back, hissing quietly as Sherlock immediately straddled his lap, reaching behind to hold his prick steady as he sank down onto it without delay. "Impatient git."

Sherlock snorted and promptly lifted himself up and slammed back down again, grinning sharply as John cursed and clutched at his hips hard. "Mm. Feel so good in me, John. So right. Can't help myself."

“Doesn’t hurt that you have a fan watching either, hm? Shameless hussy.”

Sherlock grinned and cast a wicked look at their adoring audience of one, his warm brown eyes widening with delight, his cheeks blooming with a warm glow. He reached out to caress Greg’s knee as he pressed his torso closer to John’s body, rocking on his lap in a steady rhythm. John cursed again and leant his forehead into Sherlock’s sternum, watching intently as the younger man’s cock bobbed up and down with each of his wild gyrations.

John let out a short, sharp gust of breath as Greg reached out to trail his fingers down his arm. “ _Nghk_. Not gonna last long if you keep this pace, sweetheart.”

“Good. That’s rather the - ha _Christ_ \- the point.” Sherlock ground down again and again, low grunts of pleasure working their way up through his chest. “Don’t want soft and gentle, John. Want to fuck. Hard. Rough.” He yelped quietly as John growled and tightened his grip on his hips, using his legs to push up into the hot body tucked up in his lap. “Yes, oh God _yes_ just like that. _Fuck_ me.”

“D-dirty thing…” The couple currently entwined with each other cast a look to their side, John’s pace increasing as Greg’s tongue waggled at him lasciviously. He scooted just a bit closer, reaching up without warning to twine his broad fingers in Sherlock’s wild curls, tugging his head back forcefully. John snarled and leant in to bite at the elegant column of his lover’s neck, being presented to him so beautifully. Sherlock let out a broken sound, something lovely and wounded all at once. “Harder, l-love. Baby wants it...h-harder.”

“Oh God.” John increased his pace, his face twisting up with determination. Sherlock sighed as Greg released his grip, trailing his hand down the long line of his spine, drenched with sweat. “Touch yourself, love. Want to feel you lose control. Want to feel your body dance on my cock. Love to feel you shake and shudder around me, oh fuck yes…”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, his thighs trembling with the effort as he hoisted himself up just so, positioning his body so John could drive into him without needing to hold him up. Then he wrapped one hand around his cock and just seemed to hold on as his violator pushed into him, jolting his body so his prick slid neatly through the circle of his fingers with every solid thrust.

“Yes, John. Oh yessss…” John merely grunted in reply, once again tilting his face down to watch as the darkly flushed head of Sherlock’s prick played hide-and-seek. “So close… Please - just a bit…” Sherlock held tight to John’s shoulder and tilted his body away slightly, obviously seeking more pressure on that particular spot. John grunted again and also angled his hips, more than willing to give his lover exactly what he needed. “There. Just - _there_ oh fuck yes…”

Sherlock threw his head back with a sharp cry as his body went stiff, his fingers convulsively tightening on both shoulder and prick. Greg moaned low as a fine arc of semen shot from the head, striping John’s belly and chest. The smaller man continued to push his lover through his orgasm, muttering quiet curses that turned into a choked-off cry as he clutched at Sherlock’s hips and pulled him down roughly, impaling him on his cock even further. This induced another spasm from the dark-haired man, another swift jet of come and Greg laughed with delight as John’s face went nearly purple with the force of his orgasm. His grip slackened as he slowly regained his normal colour, his head slumping against the back of the sofa.

When everyone seemed to be breathing again, Sherlock cast another wicked glance at his silver-haired lover, raising himself up and slamming back down onto John’s prick without warning, quite hard. John flailed out with a wild cry, swiftly recapturing his assailant’s hips, his fingernails digging into his flesh as he held Sherlock down firmly. “None of that, you sadistic bastard. You are going to sit there and be _still_ until I tell you otherwise, you understand me?”

Sherlock moaned quietly as he wrapped both arms around John’s neck and put their foreheads together. “Oh, yes sir. I just love it when you get all bossy, Captain Watson.”

“T-tart.” Everybody dissolved into quiet giggles until Greg scooted just another couple of inches closer, reaching up to run his fingers through both of his lovers’ hair. “John. I w-want to see…”

Sherlock wriggled slightly as John groaned, flexing his fingers in their hold on his lover’s hips. “Of course you do. Gregory, you are nothing but a filthy beast.” Greg hummed a vaguely noncommittal agreement as the dark-haired man shifted on his human seat, turning toward him and cupping his face in both hands, bringing him in for a gentle and almost achingly sweet kiss. John watched with a little twinkle in his eye as Sherlock turned back, accepting his almost chaste peck on the cheek with grace. “All right, then. Up with you.”

Sherlock lifted himself up with a little tremor in his legs, wincing as he shuffled backwards and got to his feet. With a vibrant blush blooming high on his cheeks and wending its way down his chest, he turned his backside on both men and abruptly bent at the waist. His body shuddered at the mixed noises of appreciation, gentle cooing and low moans. Another swift tremor raced down his spine as he felt fingers tracing over his skin, John’s hand grasping hold of one cheek, and Greg the other. They spread him open, and Sherlock could feel his arsehole flutter under their combined scrutiny. He bit his lip as he braced his hands on the coffee table, spreading his thighs just a bit more.

“Oh, you truly are shameless, aren’t you? Our beautiful sweet trollop…”

Greg hummed and let out a soft sigh as he squeezed and released, massaging Sherlock’s bum gently. “W-wish I could h-have a go…”

“Oh, my love.” Sherlock straightened and turned back as they let him go, watching as John cradled Greg’s face in both hands. “You’re halfway passed out as it is, and like you said earlier, certain parts aren’t cooperating anyhow. You’ll make up for it in a week or two, I’m sure.”

Sherlock crouched beside him, laying his cheek on his thigh and rubbing against the coarse hair. “We have time, Greg. I’m not going anywhere.” He glanced up at his lover’s bleary face and pressed a soft kiss to his skin. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

“Baby…” Greg patted his head, running one finger over the shell of his ear.

“Yes, love. We’ll both be here.” John reached out to tug at Sherlock’s curls. “Now - into the shower with you. If you stay crouched down like that you’ll start to leak onto the carpet before too long.” He grinned viciously as a swift flash of abhorrence crawled across his lover’s face. In many ways, Sherlock had eagerly embraced the basest elements of becoming a sexual creature, but there were still certain aspects that induced an almost instinctively repulsive response in him. It was all well and good when he displayed himself to his lovers like the filthy, degraded creature he was, but soiling his environment was a different matter altogether, for some unfathomable reason.

Sherlock swiftly rose to his feet without a word and traipsed off to the bathroom, his arse-cheeks held abnormally tight as his narrow hips swayed beguilingly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Vines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706162) by [Princess of Power (Pulpbomb)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pulpbomb/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Power)




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